The Rise and The Fall
by tehbrighteye
Summary: Following Angela Ziegler - "Mercy" - as she joins Overwatch. Reluctant at first, she finds herself dedicated to the cause - and to another within its walls.
1. Persuasion

**Persuasion**

Hello all. I've rated this "M", but you aren't going to see anything of that nature for several chapters yet.

This was something I came up with after reading (several) Mercy / Reaper stories. While (spoilers) there isn't much on that in this particular chapter / section, there will be further along, so I beg you for patience and for your reviews (good or bad!).

I've already created the first three chapters (and posted them over on AO3), so you're going to get a three-for-one deal here. You probably won't see another post until Sunday unless you're lucky, as I'm rather busy on the weekends.

I always appreciate feedback - good or bad - as well as recommendations or requests.

* * *

"Paging Dr. Ziegler to OR 1. Dr. Ziegler to OR 1." Angela sighed but dutifully changed her trajectory from the canteen to the nearby elevator that would take her down the two floors necessary to reach the operating rooms. She had known when she had taken the promotion to head of surgery that it would be a lot of work – she'd already been _doing_ a lot of work – but she hadn't realized how little time she had available to her own research. She had to schedule surgeries, shifting them around as more life-threatening cases arose, as well as surgeons to take them; she had to oversee the surgeries when some rookie or otherwise nervous surgeon just _wasn't sure_ and wanted another set of eyes, which she didn't begrudge and completely understood, even as it frustrated her; she had her own patients that required her attention, whether they were high-priority cases for public relations or her own personal cases from before her promotion; and then there was the non-stop _meetings_.

But she had just had a major breakthrough, using nanotechnology to enhance the healing process. Aside from broken bones and foreign matter, wounds that would take weeks to heal could be treated in a handful of days. This technology could even be used to help heal treatable illnesses and disease, and minimize the symptoms in many terminal diseases. Aside from one allergic reaction to a placebo and mild nausea, her newest breakthrough had passed the clinical trial with glowing results. Soon it would be used in all major hospitals – starting with her own – to help others. She was so happy she had nearly cried; after all her hard work, she was finally making a difference. People would be saved, would live their lives with their families, because of her work. Due to the way it was applied, they had started to call it the "healing stream".

Angela stepped off the elevator, white lab-coat billowing behind her as she hurried her steps. She wasn't sure how urgent the case was, but she needed to get food in her before the _next_ surgery that she had promised to observe and then she had rounds after that. She wasn't sure when the last time she ate was, but she knew that food needed to be in her immediate future. She paused to look at the chart outside the operating room so that she had an idea of what she was walking in on. It was an emergency surgery that she had cleared just this morning; a man had come in with several gunshot wounds. Nodding to herself, she put the chart back and opened the door.

She shed her lab-coat in the room just outside the operating room, hanging it carefully on a hook designed just for that, before scrubbing herself clean. Tugging on a pair of gloves, she strode into the operating room. There was a man sedated on the table with several splotches of red on his abdomen.

"What seems to be the problem?" Angela asked, striding confidently up to the table. Just another day at work, but this man would survive. Between her and the surgeon that called her, they would get this man back on his feet.

* * *

Angela leaned back in her chair, eyes closed and one hand rubbing her temple. She absolutely _loathed_ budget meetings. There were so many things that they needed, but due to financial constraints they had to manage with less. She understood that – money made the world go around and money paid her bills (and her staff) – but it was no less frustrating. What was even more frustrating was that the meeting had gone thirty minutes over and she was now late for her rounds. She knew she needed to get back to it, but she was taking just a minute to compose herself. Five minutes later, she scooped up her notes and exited the conference room, and hit the elevators. At the fifth floor she headed left, her heels _click click clicking_ as she sped towards her first patients room.

She entered Lilian Graves' room forty minutes behind schedule, but she was all smiles and apologies for running behind. Lilian was looking good – her vitals stable and her sutures clean – and would probably be going home soon. However, a few minutes into her conversation she noticed her assistant, Samuel, hovering outside the door. She cut the conversation short and assured Lilian she was doing well and Angela would definitely see her tomorrow.

She exited the room backwards and closed the door soundly before turning towards Samuel. Before she could even begin to formulate words, she noticed the two strangers flanking him. They had no business on this floor, hovering outside one of her patients' room.

"Dr. Ziegler, these men were looking for you." Samuel said, ducking his head as he saw the steely look in her eyes, but continued valiantly. "They wanted to speak to you about your breakthrough."

"Then these _gentlemen_ can make an appointment like everyone else." Angela replied coolly. She knew she needed to talk to them – and everyone else who wanted to see her – about her technology, but they _had_ to make an appointment. Her days were already struggling to follow the structure she was trying to apply to it without random strangers appearing to make it that much harder. "Now, if we're finished here, I have patients to tend to." Angela turned to walk away, but a firm hand on her elbow stopped her.

"We're not asking for a lot of your time, doctor." The blonde on Samuels' right spoke, his very posture screaming that he was in charge, though it was the dark-eyed man on Samuels' left who held her. "My name is Jack Morrison and this is Gabriel Reyes. We're with Overwatch, and we are extremely interested in your work."

Overwatch. At first she had thought they were a great idea. They would establish global peace and the horror that was the Omnic Crisis would never happen again. Families wouldn't be torn apart by war like hers was. She was glad that their world had come far enough that they could have a global task force dedicated to such a noble cause.

The reality was much less grand. Overwatch soldiers were still fighting, still killing, and innocents were caught in the crossfire all too often. However, not much was being done to stop the "collateral" damage from what anyone could tell. Sure, Overwatch was doing some good – they stopped wayward omnics and had stopped a dictator here and there – but too often this resulted in bombs or large strikes that killed more innocents than guilty. More families and friends were being torn apart as soldiers fought and died, renegades fought and died, and innocents in the crossfire just plain died. It wasn't right and an organization dedicated to peace such as Overwatch should have done better.

"I have no intention of dealing Overwatch while they are bombing cities and killing innocents." Angela growled, jerking her arm out of Gabriel's grip. "Samuel, please escort these men out." She stalked off down the hall, searching for her next patient, as the two agents stared after her thoughtfully.

* * *

A week later she walked into yet another meeting. This one had been created suddenly by her boss, though he wouldn't provide any details on what, exactly, the meeting was about. Her eyes on a chart in her hand, she didn't look up until the door clicked shut behind her. When she saw the blonde Jack Morrison sitting at the conference table, she turned to walk right back out. However, the intimidating Gabriel Reyes was at her back, keeping her from exiting the room.

"Dr. Ziegler, how kind of you to join us." Jack said from his seat behind her. She could just _hear_ the smirk without looking at the man. They had so easily caught her in their trap. She glanced around the room briefly and spotted Samuel and her boss, an overbearing man with cold eyes named Marcus Thompson. Of course they'd go over her head to her boss when she failed to give them what they wanted. Marcus wanted her to patent and sell the technology off to the highest bidder, and who would be better than the famous Overwatch?

"Mr. Morrison, Mr. Reyes; how… _nice_ to see you both again." Angela skirted to the side of the imposing man so that she could see both of them. If they were surprised that she had remembered their names, they didn't show it.

"If you would be so kind as to have a seat, Angela?" Marcus asked, standing at the table. "This shouldn't take too much of your time." The good doctor closed her eyes briefly before moving forward to take a seat at the table across from Jack, a smile plastered to her face. She'd had plenty of practice smiling, even when she'd rather be doing anything but, so it looked rather believable. Marcus took a seat next to the blonde, while Samuel took a seat next to her in solidarity. She glanced back at Gabriel, but found he was standing with his arms crossed in front of the door, as if afraid she might bolt at any moment. It was a fair assessment, seeing how she had dismissed them the last time they'd spoken.

"Dr. Ziegler, I know you're a busy woman so I'll cut straight to the chase. We'd like to offer you a position within our organization." Angela stared at the man as if he'd grown two heads, while Marcus sputtered next to him.

"You what? You said you wanted to speak to her regarding her research!" The man said, his face flushing in anger at the deceit.

"It is in regards to her research that I am offering this position." Jack regarded the man calmly, before turning his attention back towards Angela. "Your nanotechnology is nothing short of miraculous. Overwatch is looking for bright scientists and researchers to help make this world a better place. Your knowledge and skills would be an enormous asset to our organization."

Overwatch wanted _her_. They had seen her worth in the research she had performed and the technology she had created, and they deemed her worthy. She knew that her response to them originally had been rather hostile, but it was nothing but the truth. Overwatch was an organization that butchered people in the name of peace, and she could not stand with them. Not while they dropped bombs in cities to root out terrorism, and instead of killing terrorists they killed innocents.

"I appreciate the offer, but I must decline." Angela responded, clasping her hands before her. "I am a doctor that wishes to protect people, not kill them in air raids." She heard a sharp intake of breath behind her, but she kept her eyes locked on the blonde before her.

"Then this meeting is over; Angela has given her answer." Marcus spoke quickly in the ensuing silence. He clearly didn't want his chief of surgery going elsewhere, even if it was to a prestigious organization such as Overwatch. The sooner they left, the sooner they could get back to work and put this nonsense behind them.

"You want to protect people, but you won't help the organization dedicated to doing just that?" Jack responded incredulously.

"Need I mention the bombs again? You've killed countless innocents in the name of _your_ peace!" Angela shot back. "How many families have been killed? How many children lost parents, siblings?" Jack pinched the bridge of his nose and closed his eyes, as if looking for patience, when a cool voice behind her spoke.

"You want to help people? Take away their pain and cure them of disease?" Footsteps, and then Gabriel comes into view on her left.

"Of course I do! Why else would I have created the healing stream?" Angela glared up at the dark haired man, who just stared back with arms crossed.

"Then Overwatch is where you need to be. Yes, I _know_ ," He cut her off before she could start talking again, "about your opinion on the way we stop terrorists. Our methods are an unfortunate necessity, but they _were_ a necessity. You don't know how many days we get locked in meetings with risk assessors about the way we stop these people, but it wasn't an easy decision." He put one hand on the table and leaned down towards her. She leaned back, trying to keep space between them. "Overwatch is making a difference and we have a chance for real, lasting peace. Medicine is one of the many ways we are trying to help people, and you are the best choice. Help us, Dr. Ziegler, so we can help the world."

She could tell he meant every word, that he truly believed that Overwatch could make a difference. That _she_ could make a difference, if she was willing to look past what Overwatch had done and see what it could do.

"We could get any doctor in the world, but the truth is we need you, Dr. Ziegler. Your intelligence and innovation, paired with other great minds, can make a great difference in the world." Jack said, and her focus turned from the man looming over her to the blonde that sat calmly across the table. She sat silent, for once at a loss for words, and glanced between the two men that were as different as night and day – and yet they both held the same conviction about Overwatch.

"We know this is a big decision, and it shouldn't be taken lightly. We'll contact you in a week for your decision, doctor." Jack said after the silence had stretched to the point of discomfort. The blonde stood from his seat across from her and made his way to the door. "We appreciate your time, doctor." Gabriel remained hovering over her, though his right hand was rummaging through his pocket.

"This has my contact information on it. Call – or email – any time and I'll answer any questions you have." The man said smoothly as he offered a business card. Once she had accepted the card, the men left and the door closed behind them with a soft _click_.

"You can't seriously be considering their offer, Angela! Your job – your _life_ – is here. You're not a hero or a soldier; you're a doctor with patients here, in the real world. Let them fight their battles elsewhere!" Marcus declared, trying to reel her back to his hospital. She was a promising doctor and their hospital was lucky to have her, and he'd be a fool if he let her go without a fight.

"You're right, Marcus. I'm not a soldier. I'm a doctor, and I have patients." She responded, placating him even as her mind whirled.

What if she _could_ make a difference? What if she could save the innocent with her research, on the front lines like her parents? What if she could be the one that saved children from the heartbreak of losing a parent?

What if she could be a hero?

* * *

"This is Reyes." A cool voice, with no hint of annoyance or anger at being bothered at eleven thirty at night, answered her call. She had agonized over calling him all day, until it had even affected her work. She sent herself home at eight when it was obvious she wasn't going to get anything done and had returned to her apartment. There, she had made lists – lists about the good and the bad of Overwatch, the pros and cons of her joining them, of what questions she had to ask – and thought.

"Mr. Reyes, it's Dr. Ziegler." She responded, sitting on her sofa with an orange and a cup of tea. It was later than she had intended to call, but she had gotten wrapped up in her lists. She would have put it off until tomorrow, but she didn't think her work could handle another day like today. Then again, being a nuisance so late at night might give her more information.

"To what do I owe the pleasure, doctor?" The man responded easily, and she wondered if he was naturally up late or if he was used to phone calls waking him. It was probably both, given that he appeared to be a person of importance in the organization that was courting her.

"I had a few questions, if you have the time. I know it's rather late." Angela responded before lifting the cup to her lips and sipping.

"I will always have time to speak with you, doctor. What are your questions?" He responded smoothly, and she wondered how true his words were. After – no, _if_ – she accepted this position, she doubted he would see the man again. He was a salesman, trying to get her to buy their product. Even if she was bothering him – and she was certain she was – he wouldn't let on.

"I wanted to know what, exactly, I would be doing if I were to accept your offer." She responded. It had been the most pressing concern of hers. She didn't want to be relegated only to research – which was where they appeared to value her most. Her passion lay in helping people, in medicine, and while research would definitely help multiple others, she was a doctor. Giving up that part of her would be akin to cutting off a hand.

"We want to make you the head of our medical research. You'd get to decide what we need to focus on and how we need to go about it. Funding and tools will not be a problem, given that you are reasonable in your requests." The man responded easily. She paused, not expecting such an answer. She knew they wanted her knowledge and skills, but she had expected to be under another senior researcher, not to _be_ the senior. Not that she was incapable – she managed the surgical staff of her hospital as well as balanced her own research and patients – but it was a surprise.

"I am still a doctor, Mr. Reyes." Angela responded slowly. While the offer was _extremely_ tempting, regardless of the organization – that, if she was honest, was becoming less terrible the more she considered it – she still needed to be a doctor. She still needed to treat patients and work in surgery. It was who she was and what she needed.

"Of course. While you would be the head of research, that need not take up all of your time. You can create projects and delegate – or take point yourself – at your discretion. You will be the head of a much larger team for you to manage. You can still see patients and tend to the wounded if that is what you wish. We want you to be comfortable, but more importantly we want you to be happy, Dr. Ziegler." Gabriel replied earnestly. His enthusiasm was somewhat infectious, but she held herself firm.

"In what capacity would I be allowed to see patients?" She queried, hoping that his enthusiasm wasn't bleeding into her voice too much.

"In whatever capacity you want. Honestly, you're the best doctor the world has seen in a long time. Whatever it is you want, whatever you need, it's yours. You need only ask. If you want to be the head doctor, it's done." There was no desperation in the mans' voice, only conviction. This was not false flattery and praise; Overwatch wanted – and needed – a person of her skill. She sat quietly on the phone, listening to him breathe as he waited for her next question and her mind raced.

They were offering her anything she wanted – and all she ever wanted was to help people. She could make new tools to save people, to lessen the blood that stained Overwatch. She would be given everything she needed to make her dreams – their dreams of peace – a reality. All she had to do was take that first leap of faith, the terrifying plunge into an organization whose methods she still wasn't certain of.

"Doctor? Are you still there?" He asked, concern in his voice.

"I'm still here." She whispered.

She could be a hero.

She could keep others from suffering her fate.

All she had to do was take that first step.

"I accept your offer."


	2. Negotiations

**Negotiations**

"Coming!" Angela called, acknowledging the pounding fist on her front door. While she normally didn't receive visitors late at night – mostly because she wasn't home – she had a decent idea of who was at the door. She swung the door open without checking the peephole and was greeted by the two familiar men that had convinced her to give Overwatch a shot.

"Gentlemen. To what do I owe the pleasure?" She asked as she stifled a yawn, keeping herself between them and the rest of her home. A glance at the clock had told her it was nearly eleven and she wasn't in the habit of letting strange men – generous with their resources and time towards her as they were – into her home without reason.

"We know you're a busy woman and keep late hours, but we need to talk about your agreement to work for Overwatch." Jack said, gesturing towards her with a folder of papers. She frowned, glancing between the two men before sighing and stepping out of their way.

"By all means, please come in." Angela invited, not-so-graciously. She had to be back at work at 6am to make sure that all the scheduled surgeries went smoothly as well as make sure no changes to the schedule was required. Yes, there was another person on duty to take care of that right now but it was – primarily – her job and it was one hundred percent her responsibility. Still, she had agreed to work for Overwatch so shortly that wouldn't be her concern any longer.

Once the men had brushed past her and the door was locked securely behind them – though she noticed with some chagrin the guns on Gabriel's back, which made them more secure than her little lock – she directed them to her tiny kitchen table. There were two chairs – she didn't entertain much because, again, she was normally at the hospital – but she invited them to sit while she turned to the cupboard.

"Would either of you like some tea?" She offered, pulling down a mug for herself. This was probably going to be a late night and she would need all the help she could get. All she had was cheap bagged tea, but it was better than nothing. Coffee would be even better, but she always got some at the hospital and never needed it at home.

"A glass of water would be fine, thank you." Jack responded as he took a seat at her table, opening the folder. She grabbed down a glass for him and looked to Gabriel for his response.

"I'll take whatever tea you're having, doc." Gabriel said as he leaned one shoulder against the wall behind Jack, leaving the second chair to her. Nodding, she grabbed a second mug before turning to prepare their drinks. She pulled the box of bagged tea out of its home in a different cupboard and placed it on the counter by the mugs.

"Go ahead and start talking; I'm sure I can keep up until this is done." Angela said breezily as she moved to fill the teapot with water. She glanced over her shoulder towards the two men. "Ice, Jack? And how do you take your tea, Gabriel?"

"Yes, ma'am." Jack responded as he grabbed a paper, ready to begin.

"I'm not picky, doc. However is fine." Gabriel said as he made himself comfortable against the wall. She turned her attention back to her self-appointed task as Jack opened his mouth to speak.

"First, Gabriel informs me that you want to continue seeing patients while with us. We can put you over our entire medical division, if that is what you wish." The blonde offered. She stood at her sink, considering. That would be a lot of work – coordinating research as well as watching over the infirmary as a whole. "Your primary directive, of course, will be medical research, but there is no reason why you can't continue treating patients." She thought she had a lot of work now – that was nothing compared to what it sounded like she would be given.

"What kind of resources will I be given? Staff? Assistants?" She asked as she took the teapot to the stove. She didn't have an electric one, preferring to heat the water the "old fashioned" way. Once it was secure on the burner, she turned to get Jack a glass of water with ice. As she moved to the table and placed the cup before the man, he responded.

"Thanks. You'll be given whatever help you need. The infirmary currently has a number of nurses and doctors already on staff, but they're primarily used for triage and trauma care at our strike points. We have a handful of researchers available at your disposal, and you are welcome to request more when needed. We can also definitely hire you an assistant if you require it." He took a sip of the water and placed the cup carefully on the table away from the papers, where the condensation wouldn't affect them.

"I will definitely need at _least_ two assistants if I am to be head of the medical division for Overwatch. One for each of the two branches you currently possess."

"Consider it done, Dr. Ziegler." She nodded. This was coming together nicely.

"Agreed, Mr. Morrison."

"That's another thing, doctor. Gabriel and I are Commanders within Overwatch; just as you are addressed as Dr. Ziegler, we are addressed as Commanders by Overwatch – and other – personnel." She flashed a cold smile.

"Militarization at its finest, _Commander_. Who do I answer to, then? I imagine I have at least _one_ superior, seeing how I'm an outsider." She replied frostily. As great a deal as she was being cut, the reminder of the military – the _violent_ – side still put her hackles up.

"You answer to myself, Gabriel, and a woman named Ana Amari – Captain Amari to you." He responded, the chain of command coming easily. Angela started, not realized _just_ how important the two men she had blown off were. "Of course, while we run Overwatch, we answer to the UN, so we're not without _some_ oversight."

"And whose orders are most important, Commander? Yours, his," her eyes cut briefly to Gabriel before returning to his blue ones, "or this elusive Captain Amari?" Jack shifted a bit uncomfortably in his chair at her question. "Who gets priority?"

"In all things medical – prioritization of care, method of care, and who is healthy enough to go into the field – you have the final word. You have the expertise that we lack, which is why you have been brought on. However," he put his hand up as if to ward off a question – not that she was about to speak or interrupt the man, "you shouldn't have to deal with conflicting orders. You'll be in HQ focusing mostly on research; any directives will come after the three of us collaborate together." His hand – and his eyes – fell to the papers before him as he considered the words. There was a palpable silence as she took in her words and understood that he had deflected her question quite easily.

"But who is priority, should such a situation ever arise? I won't be put between the three of you to be ripped apart like a favored toy among children. Of course," she smiled a bit, trying to be reassuring, "I will follow all orders to the best of my ability, but I can't imagine this situation _never_ happening. It happens at least once a week at the hospital." The blonde was silent, but then Gabriel interjected.

"He's stubborn, isn't he?" His jovial tone didn't match the hard, weary look in his eyes. "His orders would take priority." Jack made a sound of disagreement, but didn't actively object. Gabriel stared at Jack for a moment before turning back to Angela. "After his orders, you follow mine, and then Captain Amari's. For anything medical, the chain stops there. For anything combat related – since you won't be in the field this really shouldn't be a problem – you'll answer to generally anyone on the strike team with a gun when it comes to your safety." Angela nodded, mollified. Apparently it was a sore subject between the men, and while she didn't necessarily enjoy needling them – okay, maybe she did a _little_ , but they _did_ come to her door at eleven in the evening – she did need the information.

"So, since I outrank everyone medically, I can promote or demote my staff as I see fit?" She queried.

"Of course. As I said, you're in complete control when it comes to the medical side." Jack replied as she turned attention away from their power struggles. However, their conversation quickly turned to a different subject.

"As a member of Overwatch, doctor, you will move into the Overwatch headquarters in Zürich." He made it a statement, and she knew an order when she heard one. She hadn't been expecting to remain in the apartment she had, but she _hadn't_ expected to move _in_ to Overwatch.

"I don't see why I have to live _in_ the base, Commander. Surely I can live apart?" She asked carefully. She valued what little privacy she had in her home – she didn't get to spend much time there, but it was carefully maintained and no one from her work life (until now, that is) had ever set foot within. Moving into a militarized frat house wouldn't allow her any privacy at all.

"Doctor, you will be on call twenty-four seven. There is no telling when an operative will need your attention or your researchers will have a break through. Aside from those facts, _all_ personnel of Overwatch live within one of the headquarters or at one of the field offices. It is for their – and our – protection, and is not up for debate." She sighed and let her shoulders slump slightly. She knew better than to fight a losing battle.

"I understand. How long do I have to wrap things up here?" Angela asked as the teapot behind her began to shriek. She made to get up but Gabriel beat her to the punch. Moving away from the wall, he gently pushed her back into her seat and moved to finish preparing the tea.

"Do you take sugar or milk, doctor?" He glanced back towards her as he carefully poured the hot water over the tea bags in each cup.

"No, thank you, Commander." She said, leaning back and twisting to look at him.

"Please, call me Reyes – at least when there aren't any subordinates around." He turned back to making the tea before she could respond, but she appreciated the gesture. Flipping into a military mode would take time, and she was absolutely certain she'd mess up the ranks and titles and whatnot, but at least he was good natured about it – unlike a certain blue-eyed blonde that was sighing and rolling his eyes at his… partner? She really wasn't sure what their relationship was; it seemed friendly enough, until her pointed questions about ranks.

"We're willing to give you a week to wrap up your affairs here and get you on a plane." Jack told her, flipping through his folder for a handful of pages. "Whenever you have spare time – which I know is rare for a doctor of your caliber – please review these documents and sign them. You'll need to turn them in when you arrive at headquarters." He offered her a stack of pages filled with text. "They're the usual legal nonsense – confidentiality, waivers, et cetera – but it's all necessary, especially for someone like you with access to a large amount of classified information." Angela accepted the papers and flipped through them idly before setting them on the table before her.

"I will need two weeks before I can leave." She replied after a long moment. It wasn't her being contrary – though she was tempted just to see how far she could push them, how far her supposed "authority" would go, but she knew better. These men were smart and would _probably_ see through the ploy for what it was. She had a major surgery lined up outside the deadline, and she didn't trust anyone else at the hospital to not screw up the last four years of her hard work on the man.

"We are only offering you one, doctor." Jack said, steel in his voice. He wasn't used to having someone around that didn't immediately kowtow to his orders, it seemed. Still, it didn't matter. She wasn't leaving this city until her patients – her immediate and foremost concern – were taken care of. Gabriel placed one of the mugs at her elbow before returning to his place against the wall, flanking Jack.

"That won't work for me. I have responsibilities here, and that requires two weeks." Angela responded, leaning forward against the table.

"What sort of responsibilities, doctor?" Gabriel asked, before sipping – and wincing at the heat of the still-boiling liquid – on his tea. "You must understand that we are eager to get you – and ourselves – back to Zürich. We, also, have responsibilities – and you just agreed to a great deal more responsibility that also awaits."

"I have a major heart surgery on a long-time patient. This will be the seventh such surgery she has gone through, and with each her chances of survival have steadily plummeted." She glanced between the both of them before leaning back and crossing her arms. "Understand this, gentlemen," she glanced at Jack before amending, " _Commanders_ : my patients will _always_ come first, before your – or Overwatchs' – wants and needs, regardless of what you wish of them. Even if that patient might even be yourself." She found herself fiercely glaring at the men, but this was her line in the sand. This wasn't something she was willing to compromise, and it was definitely best to get it out of the way now. "If this is unacceptable, you may as well find yourself another doctor."

Surprisingly, Gabriel started to laugh – and then swore when the tea spilled over onto his hand. Jack turned in his seat to glare at the man, which just made him chuckle some more.

"What's so damn funny, Reyes?" Jack demanded.

"The two of you are, Morrison. You're both stubborn, but she's got a good point – whether _you_ like it or not, which I bet you don't. Another week won't matter, not in the long run – and not if it'll costs us the doctor. She's _exactly_ what Overwatch needs, and we both know it." Gabriel looked up to the doctor. "You'll have your two weeks. Be ready with your things packed; you won't be returning here for some time."

Angela nodded, a small – victorious – smile on her lips. At least _one_ of them was reasonable. She noticed Jack didn't overrule him, though apparently technically he could. For that she was grateful; she really did want this opportunity, but not at the costs of compromising her duty. It was all she seemed to have left these days.

"What's the next thing you needed to talk to me about, gentlemen?" She asked, reaching for her mug.

* * *

To say Marcus was less than pleased was an understatement.

"You're _leaving_? I thought you'd agreed that you had a duty here, not with Overwatch!" He yelled, cheeks coloring, once she turned in her resignation notice.

"I have a duty to help everyone in need. That duty is best served with Overwatch. As much as I hate leaving your hospital, I truly believe it is for the best." Angela replied, trying to remain calm and level headed. She still needed to work here another week and a half – which would give her only two or three days to take care of her affairs outside of the hospital – and it would go that much smoother if she wasn't fighting with him.

"And what of all your patients that you leave behind, huh? What about them?" He replied, trying to lay on the guilt. And yes, she did feel guilty that she was effectively abandoning them, but that guilt was outweighed by the needs of the many. Those here had plenty of other doctors to care for them, but there were so many places that she – that Overwatch – could help that had no medical centers to speak of.

"They will find excellent care here, with or without me I am sure. Your doctors are more than capable of caring for them. After all, I helped train them." She replied, a cocky – and completely inappropriate – smirk played on her lips for a moment before she smothered it. Angela was proud of the work she had done here, that was certain, and it definitely was the reason she was moving on, but that was no excuse to rub it in.

"Excellent care, you say, yet I see you're still going to personally perform surgery on three patients before you go. That doesn't speak much of your confidence in our staff." He pointed out angrily. She merely met his angry glare with a cool one of her own. At least here, in this playing field, she knew where she stood – even if she only got two hours of sleep after the men had left her apartment. Coffee was truly a modern miracle, though she definitely wasn't planning on performing any surgeries _today_.

"Of course. You'll notice that they are all personal, long-standing patients of mine. Aside from that, I have – or will have – reassigned all of my patients to other capable hands – and these three will follow after their surgical appointments with me." She sighed and stood up from her seat. "I understand you are upset, losing one of your best doctors, but I must assure you that I _am_ going to Overwatch. I would appreciate it if you allowed me to finish my rounds through the middle of the week after next. In that time, I will give you recommendations for my successor as well as clear my office and research lab."

"Just get out of my office, Angela. You'll have your two weeks, and I'd better have that recommendation by noon your last day." He growled, pointing at the door. Angela nodded respectfully and clasped her hands before her.

"I appreciate your generosity and the opportunities to work here in this hospital." She quickly made her way out of the office and shut the door quietly behind her.

* * *

By the end of the day the rumor mill had started, with nurses and doctors alike whispering to each other – only to quiet when Angela drew near. She knew what they were whispering about and had expected it. Marcus was nothing if not loud when he was upset, and she wasn't surprised that word had gotten around.

The next morning, she took Samuel aside and broke the news to him. He merely nodded in understanding.

"I always thought you'd outgrow us, doctor. You're destined for great things; I'm just glad you decided to give Overwatch a chance." He smiled at her. "Whatever help you need to transition, just let me know." She smiled back, grateful that at least one other person was happy for her. With the way Marcus had raved – and she knew he was just angry, she _knew_ he didn't mean (most) of it – it had put a damper on her exhausted-but-good mood. She had expected much the same from Samuel, who she would be effectively abandoning to the next chief of surgery, just as her predecessor did before her.

"I appreciate your understanding. I'll definitely need help; I have to clear out all my workspaces for the move. Do you think you could help with that? You know my system better than anyone here." Samuel nodded.

"I'll make sure everything is labeled and in proper order, doctor. Just leave it to me."

* * *

"Are you ready to go, doctor?" Gabriel's voice greeted her as she opened her apartment door. All of her things were in boxes, with the exception of furniture too large for such things. She nodded as she opened the door to let him enter.

"Where's Commander Morrison?" She asked, glancing into the hall before looking back at him. She'd yet to see them apart, though it wasn't really that unsurprising. Angela hardly expected them to be within ten feet of each other at _all_ times.

"He had to return to Overwatch. There's a situation that needed his immediate attention, so he left me to play babysitter." Gabriel's smile led her to believe he was just teasing, though she didn't know him well enough to know for certain. Instead, she crossed her arms and let out a little indignant huff.

"I doubt that anything will happen to me on a trip to the airport, Commander." She responded, letting the tiniest amount of sarcasm creep into her tone – just in case he actually _was_ serious she didn't want to rub him the wrong way. He laughed.

"You're definitely going to fit right in, doc, but I thought I told you to call me Reyes." He chided gently. "Is this all your stuff?" He shifted his gaze to the various boxes that filled the room. There was a lot of boxes, but then again all of her research and personal notes were also contained within them. Samuel had made good on his promise, and everything was meticulously labeled and separated to make it easy to unpack and pick back up where she left off. The blonde nodded, turning her gaze to the boxes.

"How're these getting to headquarters?" She asked, real anxiety creeping into her voice. All of her research, her lifes' work, was contained in these boxes – not to mention the few mementos she had of her parents. It was all very important to her, and she needed them to reach her new home safely and securely. Gabriel turned to look at her, his jovial expression turning serious as he took in her own expression.

"I brought two privates to help pack your boxes and furniture into the truck. They'll help load the airplane – one of Overwatchs' if you were curious – before we take off. It'll just be the four of us, plus the pilot. All of your belongings, all of your research, will be just fine." He crossed the room to place a reassuring hand on her shoulder, before striding back to the door. "Let me go get the boys and we'll get you out of here. Morrison wants us back yesterday, as I'm sure you can imagine."

She grinned at him, the worry lifting off her shoulders as he distracted her. He left the apartment to fetch the two men, but it took him considerably longer than she expected for him to return.

"Privates Jamison and Perry, this is Dr. Angela; Doc, these are the privates that are responsible for your belongings being _safely_ and _securely_ transported." He fixed both men with a firm look as he gave them a not-so-subtle order. They snapped a salute towards him with a "Yes, Commander!" and got straight to work. Boxes and furniture were carefully hauled out of the room under Gabriels' watchful eyes.

"They know that if anything is broken or generally out of place that they'll have to answer to me. I made sure to instill the fear of God – well, in this case, of me I guess – in them before I brought them up here, so you can rest easy doc." Gabriel told her as the privates carried out her mattress. She smiled up at him, relieved.

"Thanks, Reyes. I appreciate it." She looked around at the boxes that still littered the room. "We should probably help them, don't you think?" Her eyes glittered with mischief. "We'd hate for Commander Morrison to have to wait any longer, wouldn't we?"


	3. Dominion

**Dominion**

"This entire floor is yours, doc." Gabriel said, leading her out of the elevator and onto basement level one. "Through this door ahead of us is the infirmary. Generally, this is where routine medical exams and other, simpler medical tasks are handled." He opened the door and gestured for her to enter. She stepped inside and glanced around. The room was mostly filled with beds – twenty, ten on each side – with curtains drawn back between them to be used for privacy. Each bed had its own set of equipment, and towards the back she saw a large desk and three doors. At least two of the doors were wide enough to wheel the beds through, so she imagined that there were operating rooms and the like through them. The room was empty of patients, but there were two others at the far side of the room that looked up when they entered.

"That's a lot of beds, Rey-err, Commander." She said, stumbling over the title as a woman bustled over to them. Maybe she should just call him Commander all the time, request be damned. It certainly would be less confusing and hard to keep track of. "How often do they get used?" The infirmary looked well kept; it was clean and orderly, but there were no patients for her to use to add to her assessment of the place.

"More often than we'd like, doc, that's for sure. Overwatch is a big organization, so people cycle through here all the time." He responded before looking towards the smiling red head standing before them. "Dr. Angela Ziegler, this is Dr. Gloria Freeman. Dr. Freeman, Dr. Ziegler is coming on as head of the medical division, with a specialty in medical research." He turned towards Angela. "Dr. Ziegler, Dr. Freeman is – err, was – in charge of the infirmary, to include everything between a check up to surgery. I would recommend that you keep her on as she is, at least until you are more acclimatized." Angela nodded and smiled towards the other woman, whose smile now appeared a bit forced. She was older than Angela, and in her experience that led to hostility and resentment, especially when an older doctor was usurped by a younger one.

"It is a pleasure to meet you Dr. Freeman. Do you think we can meet later today, once the Commander is done with me? I know I'll need to rely on your help in the coming days." She asked. Angela hoped to have a positive relationship with her new subordinates, but she wasn't dumb. Hopefully Dr. Freeman would at least be mature enough to work with her if she ended up disliking her new boss. That was really all Angela could ask for of anyone; she couldn't demand people to like her, but she could demand respect. After a few months her worth would shine through, and there shouldn't be too many problems. A private meeting would also help hash out problems now, before they emerged at a later, public time.

"Of course, Dr. Ziegler. I will be available in the infirmary at your convenience." Dr. Freeman responded respectfully – though Angela noticed that she was expected to go to the woman, rather than the other way around. She didn't care, though; let the older doctor win her pissing contest. It wouldn't change the fact that she was the head of medical now.

"I'll have her back to you soon, Dr. Freeman. I'm just giving her a quick tour around the facilities." Gabriel said, as he started forward towards one of the doors at the back. "I'll be out of your hair in no time." The red head nodded and followed the pair, though she stopped at the desk with another young man. Angela smiled at him, but breezed past to the door set in the right wall.

"This is the infirmary main storage." He pushed the door open so she could see the large room filled with shelves of supplies, as well as locked cabinets and refrigerators for medicine and other specialty items. "There are other supplies stored elsewhere, but this should be sufficient for your day-to-day needs." He pulled the door shut and directed her towards the door on the wall across from them. On the other side was a small hallway with four sets of double doors.

"These are the operating rooms. We've never had to use all four at once so far, but they're to be fully prepped and ready to go at any moment. I'll let you tour those at your discretion later; I'm pretty sure I'll just offend you if I try to show you around it." She was pretty sure he was teasing – maybe trying to make her transition easier? – but he turned back into the main room before she could figure it out. Angela dutifully followed him as he pushed open the other oversized door at the back of the room. Yet another hallway – this one longer – greeted them. On the opposite wall there were six doors, as well as one door at either end of the hall.

"This hallway leads to a number of places. The doors on the opposite wall will lead into private patient rooms, for quarantine, critical care, or any other private needs." He told her, pulling one of the doors open for her to peer inside. She gazed around critically before turning to the taller man.

"Looks good, Reyes. Is six enough, though? As you've told me, Overwatch is a large organization – and apparently this is the main headquarters." All the equipment she had seen was state of the art, but the space allocated didn't seem quite… large enough for such a large and violent organization.

"You underestimate us, doc. The door on the left," he gestured but made no move towards it, "will take you to another section with ten more rooms, as well as a small kitchen where meals can be prepared to fit your patients' needs." He leaned against the wall casually as he angled his head down to talk to her. "I know it doesn't seem like much, but I assure you that it should be sufficient. We do have other bases of operations that injured agents can be taken to, should there truly be a need." He assured her.

"While I'm not so picky – or cocky – to assume that I am needed for all cases, I thought that I was head of the medical division. Am I also in control of these other locations – at least where the health of my patients are involved?" If that was the case, she was _definitely_ in over her head.

"Zürich base is the head of all operations – medical included. Much of our triage is done outside of _any_ headquarters, such as on the battlefield or in the back of Humvees. All other bases have medical wards – which, yes, you do control – but none are as large as Zürich's, and Zürich is not nearly as large as the hospital you come from." He glanced over towards her. "You forget, that while Overwatch _is_ a large organization, it is not nearly as large as a city or metropolis, which requires intake sizes you are more used to."

Angela bit her lip as she thought. He was right, she knew – Overwatch wasn't _that_ big, though it always seemed larger than life. They'd been around for years, and she had to believe they were at least _slightly_ competent. She nodded, squaring her shoulders. She could do this; she could manage multiple infirmaries across the globe. Their intake couldn't be _that_ high – this task wouldn't be nearly as hard as she feared.

"You're right. I'll adjust, I'm sure. It's all just… new." Angela admitted, turning to look at the door towards the right. "What's over there?"

"That will take you towards the research and analysis section. There's also a morgue – for body storage or autopsies – in there as well." He lifted one hand to rub the back of his head sheepishly. "I'll admit that I honestly have no idea where anything is over there, but Dr. Freeman will be able to help you – or find someone else that can." He directed her back inside the infirmary and towards the exit.

"I'll show you a few more points of interest, then I'll get you back to Dr. Freeman. By then the privates should have all your boxes in the right places." He'd made sure that, before he hustled her off to get her security clearance taken care of, all of her boxes were carefully labeled with where they should go.

"That sounds like a plan, Reyes." She said, as he pulled open the door to lead back to the elevator bay. He pressed a button to take them back upstairs, before pointing down the hallway.

"Before I forget; this hallway leads to the research department, as well as your office and the kitchen." The elevator door slid open quietly and they stepped inside. "There's also access to an underground garage, so that patients coming in via car can be seen quickly. This elevator also leads to the roof and, as you may have noticed, the elevators will fit a bed in the case that a helicopter comes in with wounded. There's an override here," he pointed to a key slot, "that will force the elevator to any floor you require, should you need it. Dr. Freeman should know where the key is." Angela nodded as the doors shut and Gabriel pressed the button for floor 3.

"I imagine I'll find my way around eventually, but is there a map somewhere?" She asked, bracing herself against the wall as it shifted upwards. He laughed, and she found herself smiling even though she was mildly exasperated.

"Somewhere, I'm sure." His tone suddenly took a turn for the serious, a stark juxtaposition against his previous tone. "We try not to have those laying around, just in case." Angela stared at him, suddenly chilled.

"Is it really so dangerous here?" She asked softly. Angela hadn't imagined she was traveling anywhere unsafe; this was _Overwatch_ after all. They were heroes and soldiers, and that should make it safe, wouldn't it?

"It's not _dangerous_ , per se. It's just, this base is the head of operations, right?" Angela nodded in agreement. "Most people, most organizations – good and bad – know where we are; transparency and all that." That was certainly true; even she had known that Overwatch was in Zürich, though she hadn't known it was the head of everything. "Many other major bases also are known, as well as most of our ecopoints, though most of our field offices manage to run mostly under the radar. We're just careful, since we have so many enemies standing against us." The door slid open and he stepped out and looked back towards her. "We probably are being overly cautious, but it's safer than the alternative." She nodded and stepped out after him.

They were silent as he led her through the halls. She hadn't expected that working with Overwatch would be terribly dangerous, though she supposed it made sense. Her own hospital had protocols for shooters and bombs – but then again you could get a _map_ there. For an organization such as Overwatch, which opposed terrorists and inequality wherever it could, it only made sense that it would be that much more dangerous than her old stomping grounds.

She tried to keep track of their path, but she knew that it would take more than one trip to figure it out. People stepped out of their way as they walked, nodding respectfully towards Gabriel and staring unabashedly at the young blonde following at his heels. She ignored them; soon enough they should be used to her.

"This is the administrative canteen." Gabriel said, breaking the silence and leading her into yet another room, this one filled with tables and chairs. "You can eat at any hour – Overwatch never sleeps, or so it seems – but they serve meals for breakfast, lunch, and dinner on a set schedule." She noticed that there were a few soldiers in uniform sitting among lab coats and suits.

"I thought you said this was an administrative canteen?" She asked, and he followed her gaze towards the soldier.

"Well, it is unofficially. Honestly, no one cares where anyone eats. If you're closer to the soldier canteen when you need to eat, you can eat there and no one will stop you." He glanced back over to her. "It's mostly to help spread the burden of feeding everyone across two canteens, rather than one." He opened his mouth to speak, probably to give her even more information about her new home, when a shout interrupted him.

"Commander Reyes!" A man called out towards the man at her side, and they both turned to watch a young man rush over to them. Once he was closer, he saluted the man.

"At ease, private. What do you need?" Gabriel was all business as he turned away from the young doctor at his side to focus on the private before him. Angela looked around the canteen, noticing eyes on them – some from the mans' shout, others looking at the curious new addition at their Commanders' side – while trying to ignore the conversation happening three feet to her left with no success.

"It's Commander Morrison, sir. He needs you in the command center, right away." Reyes sighed, but nodded anyway and turned back to her.

"Sorry doc, but it looks like we're cutting this tour short. The private here," he glanced back at the man still waiting, "will take you back down to the infirmary. I'll make sure someone shows you your quarters before it gets too late." He turned back to the man who had brought Jacks' order. "Private, get the doctor back to the infirmary, then report back to command for further orders." He glanced briefly back at Angela. "I'm sure I'll see you later, doctor." With that, he strode quickly out of the room towards, presumably, wherever command was. Angela turned towards the private.

"Well, shall we?"

* * *

The meeting with Gloria Freeman went about how she expected, but they managed to come to an understanding – mostly because Angela laid all her cards on the table. Proving her worth – mainly by name dropping her own creation – went a long way in proving to Dr. Freeman that Angela knew what she was doing.

Now she was reviewing lists at Gloria's desk; she wasn't certain where she should sit yet, so she had commandeered hers. Gloria only had access to the Zürich bases' medical personnel files, so she was reviewing those. She didn't have the researchers or the data on anyone else under her command outside of Zürich, but it was a good start. She'd ask Gabriel about getting the rest of the information she needed the next time she saw him. She was sure it was available to her, but she didn't know where to look.

With the list of personnel, she also had her own lists that she was writing for herself. She needed to call meetings – but god did she hate meetings – with all of her new subordinates; speak to the commanders about getting her assistants, because she knew she was going to need them; and she needed to find new research projects for her newly assigned team, because that's what she was hired to do originally.

"How's your first day going?" Angela looked up from her lists to spy Jack hovering in her – well, Gloria's – doorway. His hair looked like he'd been running his fingers through it, probably from stress. Many of her patients' families had the same look from the exact same thing.

"It wasn't too terrible, all things considered." Angela responded, setting her pen down and leaning her elbows on the desk. "To what do I owe the pleasure, Commander?" She hadn't expected to be visited by him, what with the way they had butted heads originally.

"I can't come check on you on your first day?" He asked, leaning in the doorframe. She smiled wanly. Just because they didn't start off on the right foot didn't mean they couldn't be amicable – which was the same thing she'd requested of Gloria.

"Of course you can, Commander." She replied, rising from the seat to stretch. "I just didn't expect to see you. I thought you were busy with Commander Reyes." Which was also true; while she wasn't quite certain what time it was, she had expected them to be sequestered away for much longer. Then again, she had no idea how they worked yet and couldn't estimate these things. He just seemed the type of man to stick to it until the plans were done.

"I was. We've taken a break and I thought I'd make sure you were settling in well. Have you eaten?" Of course she hadn't eaten. When she worked she lost track of the world around her, single-mindedly focusing on the task at hand, sometimes skipping several meals before coming up for air. It was a trait many doctors possessed, due to their long hours, but she used it to work on anything – research, administrative nonsense, and medical procedures. She'd put her mind to her lists – most importantly the research projects that she wanted to get started – and lost track of time, as usual.

"Not yet. I've been working." She responded, scooping up her papers from Gloria's desk. She didn't want to carry them around, but she wasn't leaving them in her office. "Do you know where my office might be? I just took this one." It was a perfectly rational question, but it sounded stupid to her ears. This was her division – everything on the floor was hers – and she had no idea where anything was outside the infirmary. She knew it was foolish to feel that way – it was only her first day – but it still made her feel dumb.

"Of course. I'll show you." She grabbed the personnel files while she was at it and followed the blonde out of the infirmary. "It's just down this hall here." He led her away from the elevator bay and down the hall she hadn't yet explored. To be fair, she hadn't explored anything but Gloria's office. He pulled open a door and gestured inside. "Here we are." Huh, it wasn't even that far away. "We made sure to assign you near the infirmary, in case you were needed for any kind of emergency." Which made sense; a research project usually didn't end up as an emergency, though an infirmary always had them.

"Thanks." She said, stepping past him and into the room. It was spacious and boasted two desks, one against the back wall and a second towards the middle with a monitor. An office chair sat in the middle and three filing cabinets lined another wall. The final touch was the couch against the wall with the door; she noticed it was large enough to sleep on, should she need it. She expected she would. "It's perfect, thank you." And it was. This room would work perfectly for her. It had everything she needed to get started, aside from a cork board – but that was easily remedied. She set the files into one of the filing cabinets and sealed it. "Are there keys? I've gotten the elevator one from Gloria, but I imagine that's just the beginning." She was going to need to get a key ring.

"They should all be in the top drawer of that desk there." Angela opened the indicated drawer and found a small key ring holding the four keys to this office – one for the door and three for the cabinets. She tucked them into her coat pocket with the elevator key. She glanced around and spotted a clock above the door, which read that it was nearly ten at night. Had it really been that long? She hadn't gotten anything unpacked!

"Is that really the time?" She gasped. Jack glanced up at the clock and then chucked.

"Yeah, it's a bit late. When I'd heard no one had seen you since you'd been led away from the canteen, I figured you had hidden yourself away somewhere." She bristled at his words. Had he thought she was _hiding_? She had been planning out her work here, and he thought she was cowering in some corner like a child!

"I wasn't _hiding_. I was planning." He opened his mouth, but she waved away his words. She was sure he didn't _mean_ to offend her, it just happened that way. "More importantly, I need to meet with my staff. I need to plan meetings; how do I do that and where?"

"You'll need your computer there. Your login information is under the keyboard, but you'll have to change the password once you've entered it, security protocols and all." She nodded and found the scrap and logged in. Once in, he directed her to open her email. "All of your staff are in here, sorted by medical and research staff. Some will be in both sections, as you are, but most belong to one or the other. Just choose the ones you need and send them an email with whatever you want them to do. There's a meeting room on the second floor that you can use." Angela bit her lip and thought out loud.

"I can't leave the infirmary unstaffed, so I'll have to leave Gloria out – but that should be fine since I've already talked to her." She checked all the medical staff, excluding Gloria, and sent them an email to meet her in, "What's that room number?" room 217 at ten tomorrow morning. Then she sent a quick email to Gloria herself, explaining what, exactly, was going on so that she didn't feel ostracized. She repeated the same steps with her research staff, only moving the meeting to noon. "Done." She leaned back in the chair. Jack coughed politely, grabbing her attention.

"Sorry, Commander. I didn't mean to ignore you." While she wasn't necessarily sorry for doing her job, it seemed the polite thing to do when he'd come all this way to see her.

"Not a problem. I've only got a little time left before I need to get back; do you want me to take you back up to the canteen so you can eat?" He offered.

"I'll probably get lost on my way back, and I don't even know where my room is." She admitted after a moments thought. Food did sound like a great idea – she hadn't eaten that day aside from some snack on the plane – but she honestly had no idea what she'd do after that.

"We'll have to fix that, won't we? Come on, I'll take you up." He told her, and walked away with the expectation that she'd follow. She darted after him, almost forgetting to lock up behind her. By the time she caught up he'd already called an elevator. They stepped into the elevator in silence, and she leaned against the wall.

"What are you all planning, anyway?" Jack glanced sharply at her, but she put up her hands defensively. "I'm not looking for battle strategies or anything, but _you_ said I was the final say on who is and is not fit to go into the field. If you're planning on sending anyone out, you have to run it by me." She raised one eyebrow at the man, daring him to contradict her. He huffed out a sigh.

"Reyes were right; we definitely need someone like you around." He admitted, turning back to the elevator doors. "I'll have Amari bring you their files and a location tomorrow for your review, say around three? I know you have meetings – and you should really eat at some point tomorrow." The doors slid open and they walked out.

"That should be acceptable, Commander. I'll keep an eye out for her." She followed a step behind him. "Will I get to sit in on your meetings as the medical director, or will one of you just come to me with a list of names and locations?" While it would work in the interim, she couldn't see it being sustainable. While they would be knowledgeable of their skills in battle, she would be able to – albeit tentatively – allow or disapprove anyone for missions without all the running around. It would save everyone a lot of time in the long run. Jack looked at her appraisingly.

"We'll see doctor."

* * *

"Your room is on the eighth floor. We wanted to put you closer to the infirmary, but we didn't have any rooms available closer than that." Jack told her as he led her back out of the canteen. Up they went to the eighth floor, where he took an immediate right. After a short period of walking, he stopped at a door. "You'll have to swipe your card to get in – so don't forget it inside." She obliged him by swiping the card and letting the two of them in.

Against the walls were her boxes – except for the ones needed on the medical floor. She had to admit that the room – or rather, rooms – were bigger than she had expected. There were only what appeared to be three rooms. She had an area where she could receive guests, a bedroom, and a bathroom. It was plenty of room for the furniture she had without being too tight.

"Are you sure these are my rooms? It's rather large." She'd expected a dorm-style room with just a bed and bathroom – if she was lucky to not have to use a community bathroom.

"Any major players in Overwatch – and believe me when I say that the head of the entire medical division is a major player – gets rooms like these on the eighth floor. They're not luxurious by any means, but they're comfortable and give you your own space away from everything else." Well, when he put it that way it seemed rather obvious, didn't it?

"I have to go – they're probably wondering where I've gotten off to. Get some rest, doctor. You're going to need it." Jack made for the door.

"Thank you for your help Commander – and good night."


	4. Failure

**Failure**

Meetings were the bane of her existence, but even she could acknowledge that they had their purposes. At least she managed to keep them from running over – but only barely. She had made the decision the night before to take a week to acclimatize to her new surroundings; she would get her things unpacked and learn the layout of this enormous base if it killed her. Gloria had been running the infirmary long enough, another week wouldn't hurt anything.

She used the infirmary meeting to put names to faces and tweak the schedule, but for the most part it was to make herself known. There weren't any changes necessary – that she had observed – so she left the infirmary staff pretty much alone.

The research and development meeting was more productive, seeing how she had outlined a few research ideas the day before. There were two research teams within the Zürich base, one of which was already working on a project assigned before she arrived. That was fine; she instructed them to keep her apprised and report to her with any of their needs or concerns. The second team she directed to expand on her research that had resulted in the healing stream. Specifically, she wanted them to adapt it for battlefield triage; if it could be expanded to work on more than one target simultaneously, more lives could be saved on the front lines.

While the meetings didn't run over, she did find herself held afterwards by the second research team. They needed direction, since the technology was so brand new. She didn't even have dossiers or the research available to them yet – it was all trapped in the boxes in her office. She had explained the concept in as much detail as she was able, but had to cut the meeting short when she saw the time: 2:48. Here she was, disobeying her order to eat before her meeting with Captain Amari, but it couldn't be helped. With promises to meet with them again as soon as possible, she excused herself from the meeting room calmly before bolting down the hallway.

She managed to get to her office with mere minutes to spare; in fact, she had just sat down in her chair when someone knocked.

"It's open." Angela called, looking up as the door swung open. A middle eastern woman was standing in her door, a small stack of files in her hands with a single sheet of paper on top. "You must be Captain Amari." The captain smiled and approached her desk to set the files down.

"And you must be the famous Dr. Ziegler. Let me take a look at you." Angela obliged the woman by standing up again. The woman gave the doctor a once over before nodding to herself. Angela wondered what the woman was looking for, but it appeared that she was pleased by what she found. "Jack told me to brief you on the upcoming strike." The two women sat, while Ana pushed the lone piece of paper in front of her. "They are set to travel to the Chieti province of Italy."

Angela nodded and put up a finger, asking silently for a pause, as she scribbled a few notes down on the paper. Fortunately, it was relatively close to home, so there shouldn't be any need for immunization shots. This was a good thing, seeing how – she glanced to the top of the paper – the team was leaving in less than a week.

"Sorry, Captain. Continue."

"Please dear, call me Ana. We're going to be working together often – you, me, and the boys." Angela grinned at her calling the Commanders boys, but nodded anyways. "Anyway, we have seven agents that we plan to send on this mission. I have put together their files – medical charts first, followed by their personnel files – for your review." Angela took the top folder and flipped it open to skim over, and paused. The file belonged to a man named John Morrison.

"Is this…?"

"The commander? Yes. The commanders and I are still active members, and you will see us on the field just as often as any of our soldiers." Ana smiled at the blonde doctor gently. "We take care of our own, no matter where they are." Angela nodded and glanced back down at the chart for a moment before looking back up at the older woman.

"I thought his name was Jack?" Ana threw her head back and laughed.

"His fathers' name is John, so he's always been called Jack. He hates the name, so I wouldn't go about calling him that." Ana told her with a smile. Angela doubted that would happen – ever – with the way the man had directed her to use his title. Maybe once they'd worked together for some time they'd get along better; they didn't exactly have the best start, what with her summarily dismissing him and his precious organization as often as possible.

"Any other surprises in those files, Ana?" She asked wryly, closing the file. Angela wanted to get started on this – they were shipping out soon – but she didn't want to ignore the woman like she had, accidentally, to Jack the night before. Ana laughed again, but shook her head.

"No, dear, that was the only 'surprise'. Do you have any questions about the strike?" Ana asked, returning to the business at hand. What Angela wanted to know was where – specifically – in Italy they were going and what they planned to do, but she knew she'd never get those answers. She still held her reservations about these strike teams, regardless of how "necessary" the others believed them to be.

"Are there medical personnel traveling with the team?" She asked instead, sticking to the realm she was permitted. If she was more familiar with the names of her staff, she could flip through the files and figure it out herself quickly, but she hadn't yet managed it.

"But of course." Ana flipped through the files quickly and pulled the one in question out and offered it to her. "We send at least one medic with all strike teams. Even for missions considered low risk, we always send someone to ensure our agents come home." Angela nodded and accepted the folder, settling it on top of Jacks' file for review. "As the head of medical, you are responsible for making sure they are properly equipped to do their job." Ana tapped the folder in question with one nail. "This one has been on a few missions before, so they can guide you should you need any assistance with the mission preparations – or you can ask one of us." Angela nodded; while she didn't want to appear incompetent, it wasn't worth risking lives if she got it wrong.

"How dangerous is this mission?" Angela asked. If it had been Jack she'd asked, he'd probably give her that look again like he had in the elevator, but Ana nodded as if it were a sensible question. Of course it was – she needed to plan their medical supplies.

"This is a medium risk mission; what that means to you is that there will definitely be armed combat, but we believe that the target is minimally armed and unprepared for a strike which reduces the risks involved." Angela scribbled notes on a separate sheet of paper as Ana continued to lecture her. This was a whole new world.

* * *

"I think I can take it from here, Ana." Angela said, thirty minutes later. Any other information she could easily request later. She imagined that these meetings would go quicker – or not occur at all if she could convince Jack that she should be in on their meetings – once she understood all their terminology.

"Very good, doctor." The two women stood – one to leave and one to be respectful to her superior. The older woman paused in the doorway to glance back at their new doctor. "If you run into trouble – with the boys or with anyone else – don't hesitate to ask for help and I will do what I can." Angela smiled and nodded in understanding.

"I appreciate that, Ana. I've got it under control for now, but if that changes I'll let you know."

"Good." The captain quietly shut the door behind her and the doctor took her seat and opened a file. She didn't have a lot of time.

* * *

Angela drummed her fingers over her keyboard. She was reaching out to her three superiors on their team for the coming strike next week. It wasn't quite important enough to bother them in person about, but she _was_ planning to deny one of their chosen agents; it appeared that they had overlooked that the man had broken his leg in a training exercise gone wrong and was unable to walk.

 _Commanders, Captain,_

 _I have reviewed the files of the agents for your mission next week and have found the following:_

 _Two need booster shots for a few vaccines, which is easily remedied._

 _Ahujah's shoulder needs to be looked over before she can be approved for further missions._

 _D_ _í_ _az has a broken leg and will be unable to participate in this strike._

 _I have already set up appointments with the agents still in question. Please send me the file on your next choice as soon as possible, no matter the time._

 _Respectfully,_

 _Dr. Angela Ziegler_

She read over the email twice, to make sure there were no misspellings and that the information was correct, before sending it to the three. She imagined one of them would see the email soon enough and she'd get another file on her desk within the next day.

Then she turned her attention to the boxes in her office. While she had more boxes upstairs, these were the most important ones. All her original research was stored within them – though there were backups elsewhere in case of data corruption or an accident occurred. She needed to get everything unpacked and filed appropriately in her office, especially since her research team needed it as soon as possible.

* * *

Aside from the Díaz issue, the strike team left without any further problems. They weren't due to enter combat until three days after departure, but Angela made sure that the infirmary and operating rooms were ready at all times – just in case. The strike location was near enough that injuries might be sent their way, rather than another field hospital.

Now that she'd had time to unpack her boxes – except her kitchenware, which she shoved into a closet to deal with later – and learn her way around, she had taken over the infirmary from Gloria. She kept the woman as her second in command, as she was a great doctor in her own right, but Angela's word was law on basement floor one.

She had begun combing through the personnel files of anyone who might go on a strike mission to ensure that everyone had the proper immunizations and physicals on file. Most of the staff were up-to-date on all required immunizations – militarization once again at its finest – but people slipped through the cracks. She kept her infirmary busy with appointments and physicals, making sure everyone was healthy and safe.

At one on the day the strike team was set to attack, Ana barged into the infirmary.

"I need Dr. Ziegler." She commanded, glancing around the room for Angela.

"Here, Captain." The blonde doctor stepped out from behind a curtained-off bed. "Gloria, please finish with my patient." She ordered, stripping the gloves off her hands and passing them to the red head as she approached Ana. "What can I do for you?"

"Come with me." Ana turned and walked out of the infirmary, a bewildered Angela hot on her heels. They ended up in Angela's office, with the door shut for privacy. "I'm going to get right to it. Our intelligence on the strike was bad. Most of the team are injured – at least two are in critical condition – and the medic is dead." Ana's eyes were bleak, but her tone was professional. "We need two medics to go with our extraction team." Angela's mind whirled as she tried to figure out who was available – and suitable – to go.

"Take Daigneau and Remington; they're the best medics I have right now. I'm pretty sure they've been on the battlefield a couple times too, so they aren't green." Angela said after flipping through the files in her head. "Are they being brought here?" She asked, as Ana rose. The older woman shook her head.

"We are sending the critical patients to our base in Naples." Angela nodded.

"Get me a transport to Naples, then." Angela ordered. She would be useless on the battlefield – she wasn't trained for such tasks – but she knew how to run a surgical ward under pressure. "I'll get the medics, and myself, ready. When and where are we meeting?"

* * *

Angela followed her two medics to the helicopter hanger. In her hands was the wand-shaped tool that was used to apply the healing stream. It would be no good on the battlefield, not as it was now, but it could be used in India to help the injured once they arrived.

"You'd better be here to see us off, doc." Gabriel said as she approached with her medics. She just rolled her eyes at the man and nodded.

"Of course, Commander. I'm not fit for the battlefield." She acknowledged; maybe at some point she'd get the training necessary, but for now this would have to do. "While you're out getting shot at, I'll be preparing the operating rooms at Naples base." He nodded in understanding, since it was a good plan. She was the best doctor Overwatch had – she'd checked – and if she could be of use somewhere she would. There was no way she was going to sit around wringing her hands while there was work to be done.

"But seriously," she pointed at his chest, "keep your men – and yourself – safe. We don't need more wounded – or dead." She ordered fiercely. Angela noticed the two medics at her side wincing at her tone, or it could have been the fact that she was ordering around one of the commanders.

"Of course, doc. Wouldn't have it any other way." He patted her shoulder before leading her medics onto the helicopter. She backed off as it, and another helicopter just like it, took off and watched them disappear into the horizon before walking to another helicopter. They'd be landing in less than an hour, and if things went well would be up within another.

Her transport was a smaller helicopter, built for speed rather than carrying large loads. She climbed in without hesitation, and as soon as she was strapped in the pilot took them away.

* * *

Fortunately, the Naples base was prepared when she landed on their roof nearly four hours later. She was met at the roof by the head doctor, Dr. Thomas Russo, with a status report. The operating rooms were being prepped with various necessities – blood bags and the like – and off-duty medical staff were being brought in to prepare for the incoming injured.

Angela strode into the infirmary two steps behind Dr. Russo and glanced around as they crossed the room. Six beds, no less equipped than the Zürich base, filled the room. Two personnel – doctors, nurses, or just random people from the base – scrambled around tucking supplies by each bed for triage and less-serious injuries. He led her to their operating rooms – thankfully they had more than one – so that she could review their progress.

Everything was going well, and she left the staff to their tasks as she got out of their way. She had no idea where anything was and would only hamper them; when the injured came in she would do her part.

Almost an hour after she arrived, they were sitting around waiting for news. Everything that could be prepped was ready for their patients. She had shown one of the doctors how to use the healing stream so that it could be applied where necessary in the other OR, since she knew she'd be much too busy to apply it herself. Angela had also taken the time to eat something, since she had no idea how long it would be until her next meal – or her next rest would be. Suddenly, the phone in the infirmary rang and a nurse scrambled to grab it.

"Captain Amari for you, Dr. Ziegler." The woman called to her. Angela quickly took the phone.

"Ana, do you have an update?" She asked quietly, turning her back to the room in a fruitless attempt at privacy. The extraction team had to have been on the ground for at least forty minutes; if it was taking that long, there couldn't be any good news.

"They're in the air, ETA 10 minutes." Ana reported, and Angela released her pent-up breath; at least they were on the way. She covered the receiver with her hand.

"Helicopter is landing in 10 minutes; get those beds up there!" She uncovered the receiver and ignored the room as it burst into action. "Do you have any word on the wounded?"

"Including your medic, we've lost three. Another is in critical condition. Two more are in urgent condition. Five more are injured, but stable and headed home to Zürich. You should know that one of the urgent injuries is Jack." Angela nearly dropped the receiver, but somehow managed to keep the object in her hand. _He's not critical. He'll be fine; I'll make him fine._ She cleared her throat uncomfortably.

"Do you know what his injuries are?" Even though he wasn't in critical condition, she knew that he would be the one under her direct care. He was one of the commanders and she had to do her best to keep him that way.

"Gabe said he was shot at least twice and there was a lot of blood." Angela nodded.

"He's AB+, right? I'll stock my OR with it right away. What's the name and blood-type of the critical patient? And the urgent patient?" She grabbed a pad of paper and scribbled her notes down. "Leave this to me, Ana. We'll pull through." Angela hung up and grabbed the nearest nurse.

"I need OR 1 stocked with AB+ and OR 2 stocked with B-. Immediately." She let the woman run off and grabbed another. "You're to direct Commander Morrison into OR 1. Jeannette Burroughs is to be put in OR 2." She could only hope that the third patient could survive without surgery until the first two were done. She pushed the man to the main doorway where the beds would come from and went to scrub up in OR 1.

* * *

She operated on Jack for over three hours. His left shoulder, left arm, and right leg had been shot. Angela set a second doctor to stitch up his leg – it was bleeding enough that she worried the femoral artery had been nicked – after she had poked around and made sure there was nothing hidden in the wound. A nurse worked on replenishing his blood levels; he was losing too much to be comfortable, but it was definitely sustainable. The shoulder was also worrying – especially since they had a hard time finding the bullet. An x-ray found the bullet lodged in the ball-joint of his shoulder. Carefully they removed and stitched him up, but she worried that he would lose mobility enough that she took her healing stream and had another doctor put it to work against his shoulder long enough that only a few stitches were necessary.

Once he was stabilized, she stripped off her gloves and ran to the other operating room, which was an absolute mess of blood and metal. Another scrub and a new set of gloves and she was squeezing up to the table. The woman was losing blood faster than they could replenish it; she had been hit directly with a frag grenade that had shredded through her gear like tissue paper. They had managed to get quite a bit of the shrapnel out, but the deepest wounds were bleeding fiercely – and many of her wounds still had metal wedged inside.

She was in that operating room for another five hours, carefully threading metal out of her wounds and trying to seal the wounds up – either with stitches or careful applications of the healing stream, which wouldn't work with debris in her body – before she lost more blood. They had finally gotten all the shrapnel out when she coded. Their best efforts could not resuscitate her, and they were forced to admit defeat at nearly eleven pm. If Angela had the energy to spare she would have been crushed by his death – any patient under her care was to be saved, not allowed to die, and any that didn't survive weighed on her shoulders like a personal insult.

But there was no time to feel anything, not with still another patient, and she stripped off her gloves once again and went back to OR 1. Jack was no longer within, but the other urgent patient was. Compared to her last patient his case was simple – gunshot to the stomach – but it was still terribly serious. They probably hadn't realized how serious it was in the air, but open on her table it was painfully obvious. If Jack had been literally anyone else, the patient before her would have been prioritized over him for fear that the stomach or intestines were damaged, which they were.

It was another losing battle; if he had been seen as little as two hours sooner he may have survived, but the hole in his intestines was severe and had allowed bacteria to spread. He died of sepsis after three hours on her operating table.

She'd been up since eight the previous morning – it was nearing nineteen hours that she'd been awake and working – but she still had a duty. She left the gloves off to go into the infirmary to call Zürich. It had been over nine hours since the injured had arrived in Naples, and only one of them had survived.

"Captain Amari." The woman sounded tired, a sentiment Angela understood. At least she had the tiniest bit of good news – Jack was fine – but that was where it ended.

"It's Angela." She said, leaning against an empty infirmary bed to give her aching feet a small respite. Angela tiredly rubbed her eyes and brushed a stray lock back behind one ear.

"Is everything alright?" Concern laced her voice. Angela felt a sharp pang of guilt; she had forgotten to have someone call with an update for the woman – she was a little busy wrist deep in body cavities at the time – but it was no excuse.

"Morrison is fine. He's got a ton of stitches, and he won't be on the front lines any time soon, but he's fine." She'd decided to give the good news first, because telling Ana about him after two extremely horrible deaths on her table would be crueler than Angela could be

"Alhamd lilah." Arabic filled Angela's ears, but Ana's tone _sounded_ relieved, so she could imagine the sentiments. "What of the others?" Angela bit her lip and bent her head, clutching the phone like a lifeline.

"I regret to inform you that both are dead. Private Donella Campbell was declared dead at 10:49pm last night and Corporal Bolin Huang was declared dead at 2:17am. She died due to blood loss and he died from sepsis." She couldn't – wouldn't – tell Ana that the Corporal may have survived had he been prioritized over their commander. It had been her call to admit him directly without taking stock of the other wounded, which made his death solely her fault and responsibility. Ana muttered some more in Arabic before switching back to English.

"I'm sure you did everything you could for them, dear." But she _hadn't_ , and that was the problem. She'd done everything for _Jack_ – for the _Commander_ of this stupid organization – but not the ones that needed her _more_.

"Thank you, Ana." Angela whispered thickly, unable to voice her failure without tears – and she didn't have time to cry right now. She still needed to check on Jack again before she could find her own rest.

""The other injured landed here several hours ago. All have been treated, and I'm told they're stable." Ana told her, which was some relief. At least there was no more death, not today. "Find Gabe and report to him, then get some rest. You sound exhausted." The woman ordered, not unsympathetically.

"Yes, Captain." The line went dead, but still she sat there, phone to her ear, for a few minutes more. She hadn't realized Gabriel was even here – but then again, he probably stayed due to Jack, rather than head back home – and she wasn't looking forward to making a report in person.

Still, she had a duty to perform. She found a nurse and had them take her to wherever it was they hid Jack. They'd, unsurprisingly, put him in a private room with a soldier stationed outside it. Wounded and vulnerable as he was – even if no one outside the infirmary and the strike team knew – she didn't blame them for moving to protect their leader. She went to enter, but found her way blocked by the solider.

"Sorry, ma'am, but no one is allowed entry." She raised an eyebrow – she was too tired to do anything else.

"My name is Dr. Angela Ziegler, and I'm the one who spent three hours stitching him up, so you're going to move aside and let me check on my patient." The order would have sounded more impressive if her voice wasn't so weary. She offered her badge to him, proving that she was actually the person she said she was. After an inordinate amount of time scrutinizing the ID, he allowed her entry.

Inside, the only sound was the soft beeping of the EKG machine. Jack was laying in the bed asleep, while Reyes was sitting in a chair against the wall. At the sound of the door opening he rose to his feet, guns in hand and a fierce look on his face.

"It's just me." She put her hands up defensively, as if that would help her in the slightest if he accidentally shot her. He blinked and put the guns down on a nearby table. At least he had the good grace to look sheepish.

"Sorry, doc. It's been a long day and I'm a little jumpy." He took a good look at her. "You look like hell, doc. Here I am complaining, and your day was just as long."

"Thanks; you really know how to make a girl feel good about herself." She said dryly, moving further into the room to grab Jack's chart and look him over. It had been eight hours since she'd seen him – and he'd still been on the table when she left him. Carefully, she looked over the wounds and checked his chart for the medication and pain killers they'd put him on. After a few minutes of review, she nodded and turned back to Gabriel, who was sitting with a worried look.

"He's going to be fine, Reyes. I saw to that myself." She reassured him, tucking the chart back into its spot on the wall next to the bed. There was only the one chair in the room, so she leaned against the bed at Jack's feet.

"I know, doc. I don't doubt you; I'm sure he'll pull through just fine." He still looked worried, something Angela didn't know how to put to rest. They were clearly close, the two men, and sometimes the only thing that removed worry was recovery. They sat in silence for a few minutes, Angela fighting off the incoming exhaustion, before she spoke again.

"I came to check on Jack and to give you a report." She said, turning bleak eyes to the man on her left. He nodded for her to continue, eyes closed. "Both agents are dead." Gabriel's eyes flew open. "Private Campbell died from blood loss due to injuries from a frag grenade, while," she took a steadying breath, she could report and be _fine_ , "while Corporal Huang died from sepsis due to a gunshot wound to the stomach." She realized, somewhat dejectedly, that there was a lot of paperwork in her near future for their deaths. "All other wounded have been treated back in Zürich and are currently stable." She closed her eyes and leaned a little more against the bed, slumping her shoulders miserably with a bowed head.

"I'm sorry to hear that, doc." Gabriel finally said. "They were good agents." Of _course_ they were, and she'd let them die under her care. She bit her lip to keep the words to herself – she didn't need him to witness her misery or hear her words of derision. "I know you – and the other doctors – did everything possible to save them." She nodded and stood abruptly.

"I appreciate it, Reyes." Angela turned her back to the man and made for the door, before her exhaustion allowed her sorrow to show. She had to show she was capable, professional, and getting upset over death – as a _doctor_ of all things – wouldn't earn her any respect. It was a man's world, and there was no room for a woman's feelings in the world of medicine – or running Overwatch. "I'm exhausted. I'll be right next door if you need me for anything." Her voice was thick with unshed tears and words left unsaid. She tugged the door open, surprising the soldier on the other side.

"Doctor." Reyes' voice stopped her, but she didn't – couldn't, not with the tears burning at her eyes – turn around. "Thank you for coming out to Naples. You didn't have to – you could have stayed in Zürich – but you did. I won't forget that." She nodded silently and let herself out. Angela let herself into the room directly next door. Mercifully, it was empty. She slipped her shoes off and climbed onto the bed in the center of the room, letting the silence and darkness wash over her.

With the darkness came memory of the past eleven hours. The blood and gore, the frantic suturing and desperation to try to save the person on the table. Mostly, though, she remembered all the things she did wrong. She didn't check the patients and prioritize one over another; she'd just put the Commander first over everything. They hadn't even entered her infirmary and she'd placed one over the other.

Because of her actions, Corporal Huang wouldn't be going home. She wondered if he had a family. Surely there were parents out there somewhere – unless he'd been an orphan like her – or maybe a wife with children? She still had his personnel file, as well as Private Campbells'; she'd find out and see if there was anything she could do for the families left behind.

She should have seen either of them first – Campbell with her shrapnel or Huang with his gunshot were both more serious than Jack, and yet she hadn't. There were many cases where there is truly nothing a doctor could have done, but she still had to wonder. If she had been with either of the deceased from the moment they arrived, would they have survived? Could there have been two, or even three, survivors of this tragedy? Were these deaths her fault?

The darkness had no answers. It merely shielded her as tears streaked silently from her eyes.

* * *

Hello again! I put the notes here at the end this time because I wanted to address the chapter without spoiling it.

Up until now we've had Angela asserting herself as the head honcho, but she's still a caring and empathetic woman, and I wanted it to be shown that she can be strong, despite those things.

I hope you enjoyed reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it.

As always, comments, reviews, concerns, whatever - I'd love to hear from you. Many thanks to Aparies for their review!


	5. Sanity

**Sanity**

She was in the operating room, pliers in hand. Private Campbell lays on the table, metal sticking out of her like a porcupine. There's blood everywhere, the patient needed more – but every time she tries to speak, nothing comes out. The other doctors and nurses work blindly next to her, across from her, not noticing or realizing that the patient is dying, that she was trying to communicate. She tried to tear herself away, get the blood herself, but she was trapped next to the body, forced to try to pull out the shrapnel as the woman just kept bleeding. It was like bailing out a sinking boat with a cereal bowl – she was doing something but she may as well do nothing.

"Time of death, 10:49pm." _I've failed her again._

She was standing over Campbell again, scrambling to keep her alive. Pliers in hand, she carefully tugged the metal out of her body. She called for more blood, she was bleeding too fast. Angela turned to set the metal aside, and when she looked back it was lodged in her body again. _No, that can't be._ Angela pulled the metal out and set it aside again. And again. _And again_.

"Time of death, 10:49pm." _Not again, I can't do this again._

She stood over Campbell. "Time of death, 10:49pm." _Please, no._

"Time of death, 10:49pm."

Once again, she was over Campbell in a fight to keep the woman alive. Pliers carefully tug out the shrapnel, needles stitch torn flesh back together. Blood, so much blood, it's everywhere. There's too much, _we need more blood_. They're working nonstop, where one hand falters another picks up the slack. The bleeding has stopped, the wounds sutured shut. _Finally. I've saved her._

She turns, ripping off her gloves, there's more patients that need her. The operating door flies open before her, and now she's standing over Jack. _I thought I already saved him, why is he bleeding? Where are his stitches?_ There's no time to think about that, she must stop the bleeding. There's a scalpel in her now-gloved hand, she's trying to find a bullet. _Where is it?_ It's in here, she knows it is. They can't heal him until it's out, his body will reject the nanobots or the nanobots will reject him, but it doesn't matter because _where is this stupid bullet?!_ Finally, it's out, tossed aside like trash. Beam in, why is it going so slow? Nurse, hold this, keep it steady, she needs to deal with his leg.

It hasn't stopped bleeding, why is it bleeding, why wasn't this dealt with sooner? There's a needle in her hand, she's pulling his ruined flesh together. Over and over, she stitches and stitches, but it doesn't stop bleeding. _Why won't he stop bleeding?_ _Where is it coming from?_ Faceless nurses and doctors are standing around her, watching, why weren't they helping her?

 _Why is he coding?_ There's too much blood, he's been bleeding too long. We've run out of blood, we need more blood. He can't die, he's the _Commander_. Overwatch needs him. We need more blood, we need more blood, _we need more blood_.

"Time of death, 11:27pm." _No!_

* * *

"Doc! Doc, wake up!" A hand was on her shoulder, shaking her even as she tried to force herself to sit up. She was momentarily disoriented – why was someone in her room? – before recalling the events of the day before. Her vision was blurry, what was going on? She scrubbed at her face to find it wet, but that wasn't important. Her eyes found Gabriel looking concerned as she swung her legs over the edge of the bed.

"What's wrong?" She demanded, reaching up to pull her sleep-messed hair into a ponytail before standing up. She had no idea what time it was, but if Gabriel was in her room it meant that there was something going on with Jack. He didn't appear panicked, so it probably wasn't anything bad. Still, she started for the door before he could begin to speak.

"Wait, doc, stop!" He grabbed her arm before she could get more than a few paces from the bed. She turned to look at him, confused. "Jack's fine. He's still sleeping." If Jack was fine, why were they even having a conversation? If the commander was still sleeping she should be too. Sleeping and dreaming of how he died, how they all died, how there was _no more blood_. She shook her head slightly, as if that could chase the thoughts and dreams away. They'd be back – they always were.

"Why did you wake me up then?" There weren't any other patients to worry about besides Jack, not anymore, and that was all she was good for – putting the broken back together so that they could break themselves some more. She'd seen the scars on Jacks' body as she was carefully stitching him back together, and she knew that there'd be more from this little adventure – and those that would come.

"You were yelling." He watched her carefully as she made a face. "Not loud enough to bother me or Jack next door, but the guard heard you." She hadn't realized she talked – or yelled, in this case – in her sleep. "He got me, and I came to investigate. You were yelling about blood." _We need more blood._ "I figured I should wake you."

She glanced down towards the ground. She knew she had nightmares – she always took her patient's deaths hard and this time was no different – but she hadn't realized it included shouting or crying out. Some doctors chose to drink or smoke when the stress got to be too much while others lost themselves in the touch of another; she carried the guilt on her shoulders like a scarf – or a chain – and dreamed while burying herself in work, hoping to reach a state of exhaustion that even dreams, and nightmares, couldn't penetrate. It never affected her at work – nightmares are easily hidden and what doctor doesn't look tired from time to time? – but now, well, now her work was her home.

"I appreciate it, but I'm alright. They're just dreams." Angela looked back up towards his face. "Occupational hazard, really." She tried to offer a smile, but she was still too out of sorts from her nightmares and the sudden visit for it to be effective. Angela watched Gabriel search her face, but she wasn't sure what he was looking for.

"Are you sure? I got time; we can talk about it." He said spreading his hands apart in offering. When she hesitated, he just sighed and crossed them back across his chest. "It's fine. You don't have to talk to me, but you should talk to someone. Me, Ana – hell, Jack'll even hear you out." She made a face. She highly doubted Jack would want to hear about the poor doctor having nightmares – even if he was starring in them. Gabriel made a _tsk_ ing noise. "You underestimate him, doc. He's a good man; yeah, he's stubborn, but he's loyal and he'll have your back. All of us do – because we're a team." He shook his head; he'd gotten off topic.

"Anyway. Battle changes and damages each of us." She had never stepped foot onto a battlefield, so she had no idea what he was harping about. Her thoughts must have shown on her face, because he continued, "If you believe for one second that you weren't fighting a battle yesterday, then you are sorely mistaken." He shrugged and slid his hands into his pockets. Angela just stared at him, nonplussed. Surgery had never been considered a battle, though she supposed it could be. A battle to keep the patient from bleeding out, _where is the blood coming from_ , and to keep infection at bay. Still, she could never liken it to combat, where bullets were flying and maiming and killing.

"We all have our demons and nightmares to face, and there's no reason for you to deal with it alone." She couldn't imagine the three of them having nightmares; they always seemed so strong and in control, all the time. Then again, they must have seen horrors she could only dream of on the battlefield. Still, that was something she'd always thought was left behind closed doors – acknowledged but never spoken about, even in the darkness – but she was also a private person, leaving her personal troubles at the door of the infirmary.

"You go ahead and get back to bed; it's still early yet and I'm sure you're tired." He headed for the door without a second glance at her. He'd made she was okay and now he was leaving.

"I dream of the patients who die under my care." She muttered as he passed her, head averted as if it were shameful – and to her, it was. She was ashamed of her failures – and every death, every drop of blood on her hands, that was a failure. Angela heard him stop and could feel his eyes on her. "They die over and over and _over_ , and there is nothing I can do to stop it."She shrugged helplessly before looking up at the man. "If I made better choices, those patients would be alive. But they aren't, so they continue to die in my nightmares." It was a truth, bitter and awful, but truth nonetheless.

"Jack's alive because of you." He offered into the ensuing silence, and she scoffed, a harsh, bitter sound that she hadn't realized she was capable of making.

"Jack would have been fine!" She snapped, and a tense silence filled the room, surprising both of them. It was obvious that Gabriel had no idea what to say to that statement, that he had no idea why she was so angry about it, and she didn't want him to say anything. There was nothing to say, because it was true. Any doctor in this ward could have cared for him, but she felt it was her duty to take care of him personally. She bit her tongue on the rest of what she wanted to say, how Huang would have lived, how Campbell might have lived, if Jack had waited. Those words weren't meant to be said aloud, _couldn't_ be said out loud – and if they ever passed her lips it couldn't be unsaid. She'd be lucky to keep her position; you can't just say you should have put off emergency surgery on the commander of _literally_ every person in Overwatch for another person.

"I'm sorry." She whispered finally, breaking the oppressive silence. "I'm just stressed and exhausted and two people died _literally_ under my hands in the last twelve hours." She was choked by her position of words she couldn't say and torn by her duties to things she just couldn't do, but she would survive. It was nothing she couldn't handle alone – because she had to. There were too many things she couldn't say to Ana or Jack or Gabriel, not without leaving behind a concern that could cost her the one thing that would give her access to helping people across the globe. In this, Gabriel was wrong; she had to shoulder this burden alone.

"It's alright, doc. We all had a hard day yesterday. But those people that died?" Angela glanced up at him, finding that her eyes had fallen to her hands – _there's blood everywhere_ – knowing what was coming and knowing she needed to hear it from someone else, even as she didn't believe it. "Their deaths aren't on you. They're on Jack and me for sending them out there, and they're on those people that shot them and left them for dead. You were just left to pick up the pieces." She appreciated the sentiment, even though he was willfully forgetting that she had sent them just as much as he did – without her okay, they'd have stayed behind. If she had done her job properly, they'd have been okay. Their blood was on her hands – literally and figuratively – just as much as his.

"Thanks, Reyes. I really appreciate it." There was nothing more to be said, not now – not as they were. As long as she worked for Overwatch, there was no one to confide in, not about this. As long as those above her were entering the battlefield, as long as they were getting hurt, there was nothing that could be said about this. Not to him, not to anyone. He must have heard the disbelief in her voice because she saw his hands clench, but he let it go.

"You should get some rest. I'll wake you for breakfast." Gabriel told her gruffly, turning to the door. "Please remember, doc, what I promised you weeks ago." He murmured in the silence. His parting words stunned her into letting him leave unhindered, leaving her to the dark once more with a soft _click_. So much had happened in the last few weeks, but she didn't remember a promise. In fact, she wasn't even part of Overwatch weeks ago.

Unless he was referring to the phone call? No, he couldn't. That hadn't been a promise, had it?

Still, the thought made her smile despite herself. She'd never had friends before – she was younger than all the rest in school and during her residency, and then she only had associates and surgeons who worked under her and with her. There was no comradery, merely respect and the polite aloofness that one adopts with coworkers. Here, though, here she might actually have a friend. It was a nice feeling, one she hadn't realized she was missing.

"Goodnight, Reyes." She whispered, but there was no one left to hear. Instead, she climbed into her bed and closed her eyes.

When she opened them again, she was standing over Huang and there was _too much blood_.

* * *

Before Gabriel knocked on the door, she was already awake. Without any personal items for herself – since that hadn't been a priority the day before – she was finger combing her hair with the help of the bathroom mirror.

"It's open!" She called, sighing at her disheveled hair and tugging the messy locks into another ponytail before trying in vain to smooth the wrinkles in her clothes. "Good morning." Just one glance at him had her remembering the conversation from the night before. Already she was regretting it – she had said more than she had intended – but there was no way to take it back. She'd decided to pretend like it hadn't happened, though she knew it would be easier said – or thought – than done.

His parting words from the night before were still ringing in her ears, but she forced them away. It was a kindness she didn't deserve.

"Good morning, doctor. Jack's awake." That got her attention faster than anything else could have. How long had he been conscious, and why hadn't she been called sooner?

"How long has he been up?" She asked, brushing past him and into the hallway before he could answer. She didn't stop for the soldier at the door, she pushed right past him too and into the room. Without looking she knew that Gabriel was on her heels.

"Commander," she greeted the bleary-eyed man, whose sluggish reactions told her he'd been recently dosed with pain killers, "how are we feeling this morning?" She hoped it was morning, at least. Still, he was drugged up enough to not know the difference, either way.

"Ziegler." She stepped closer to the bed to make it easier for him to focus on her. "What happened?" Angela frowned slightly, but grabbed his chart to hide her expression.

"You got shot, Jack." Gabriel's voice rumbled from behind her. Angela turned slightly to glare at the man; she needed to control this conversation, and he needed to be silent.

"I was shot?" The man moved to sit up, but Angela darted forward to put a hand against his chest. Though he was stronger than her – most people in Overwatch probably were – in his drugged state he was nothing she couldn't handle.

"Yes, Commander, you were shot. You need to lie still." She turned to glare at Gabriel, because it was his fault that he was squirming under her hands. "Commander Reyes, I need the healing stream. Any of the medical personnel should be able to get it for you." The order of, _go get it_ , was left unspoken but hung heavily in the air. While it was a ploy to get him to leave for a few minutes, it wasn't an empty request. A few hours application would see Jack back to full health. She'd have done it yesterday, but she was too busy between her other surgeries and had been too exhausted afterwards to consider it. Gabriel's eyes narrowed, whether it was at the unspoken order or the clearly sarcastic use of his title, but he huffed and strode out of the room.

"Do you remember what happened?" She asked her patient once he finally relaxed in his bed again, her tone gentle. His brows knit together in confusion.

"No, I don't, not really." That wasn't altogether unsurprising; trauma had a way of blocking itself out, and the drugs weren't helping.

"That's alright, Commander. Don't worry about it at all." She soothed. The last thing she needed was for the commander of Overwatch to hurt himself under her care – especially since she just put him back together. "I'm sure it will come back to you, just relax." Angela allowed herself a moment to skim over the chart again. Aside from routine visits to provide antibiotics and pain killers, there was no changes.

"Do you have any water?" The man asked, and she glanced around the room. She turned to the small table, where Gabriel had left food and drink – presumably hers, since he told her he'd wake her for breakfast – but found no water for the man. There was a glass of orange juice, though. Quickly, she dumped the juice and rinsed the cup, before filling it again from the tap. There wouldn't be anything in the water that should hurt him, and if there was, well, he was being pumped with enough antibiotics that it shouldn't bother him.

"I'm going to shift the bed so you're sitting up. Don't move." She pressed the button on the bed's rail to slowly move him into an upright position. Once he was seated, she moved the cup to his lips. "Small sips, Commander." She ordered, tipping the cup slightly to allow a little water into his mouth.

She pulled the cup away before he was satisfied, but she wasn't about to let him drink himself sick. He would be alright. It was about that time that Gabriel returned, medical apparatus in hand. She smiled up at him as she pulled it from his hands.

"Thanks, Reyes." Once more she leaned against Jack's bed, but this time she was focused on the man within it, rather than the one hovering at her shoulder. "I'm going to patch you up, Commander. You'll be better in a few hours."

* * *

Things moved quickly once Jack was fully healed. While the men ate, Angela slipped out to get paperwork for the two deceased. She wasn't looking forward to filling them out, but it had to be done, and she knew they would be leaving for Zürich within the hour.

Paperwork and pen in hand, she let herself back into Jack's room. They both looked up at her, at the pinched look on her face and the paperwork in her hand, and said nothing. Gabriel wordlessly held out an orange, which she gratefully accepted since she still hadn't eaten that day.

She quietly reported to Jack what Gabriel and Ana already knew; she wasn't certain if Gabriel had told him anything, but it was her duty to give the report. Then she sat and filled out paperwork, the two men quietly speaking to each other, while they waited for the helicopter to get ready to take them home. She had no idea what they were talking about, but it was rather nice.

The helicopter trip seemed to take no time at all, and soon they were home. Paperwork finished, she submitted it and leaned back in her office chair with a sigh. But she didn't relax for long, because she had work to do.

She marched into the research department to find what the status was on the tasks she had set to them nearly two weeks ago. Her trip to Italy, and subsequent nightmares, had fueled a fire for new technology so that this never happened again.

The healing stream needed to be upgraded and mass produced. It needed to be able to recognize metal and other non-organic matter and push it out of the wound – or at least allow healing of other wounds – which would allow for battlefield medics to use the technology, even if there was a bullet or shrapnel in their wounds.

She still wanted a way to heal groups of people, but her changes were more important. If it can remove foreign matter, the mass healing would be that much more successful. She took point on the research, driven by the guilt that hung about her neck like a noose.

Every week she received reports of agents' perishing, either in the field or in the infirmary. Every week she updated the personnel files and grieved for their passing, that her research hadn't finished in time to save that person. Every week her resolve to finish this project, to save lives, grew stronger. Every week, her nightmares plagued her.

A month passed. She still had her responsibilities to the rest of Overwatch – she approved and denied strike team members for medical purposes and she still saw patients in the infirmary from time to time, and on two other notable occasions she had traveled to help patch up their agents – but her focus was in the research division. It was too important to her to leave alone, and she kept finding herself drawn to it. All too often she found herself waking early and leaving well after everyone else had gone. She skipped meals whenever she could get away with it. Her guilt and shame fueled her, drove her, to complete this task. She didn't need to eat, she didn't need to sleep; it kept the dreams at bay and got her that much closer to success. This was her secret, the reason why the healing stream came to exist as quickly as it had.

Her drive to protect people had forced her to work long hours with as few breaks as possible, to push aside anything that wasn't pressing for the task at hand. She wanted, needed, to protect those people under her care. All of these agents – including the Commanders and Ana – were hers to protect and shield, and she would be damned if she slacked on her research and lost more lives than necessary.

She practically ostracized herself; the infirmary was left nearly entirely to Gloria and she rarely talked to her superiors in person. She made herself meals in the kitchen off the infirmary at odd hours. She usually only saw other people while in the research lab. But she was making progress, and that was all that mattered. Still, all of her duties were completed before she lost herself in the lab. All mission requests were handled, all death reports filed; everything that the infirmary required of her, as the head, she took care of. And then she dove into her research with a single-minded devotion.

It was another day and she was alone in the research lab again. The others had left her some time ago – she wasn't really sure how long ago it had been or even what time it was – and she was still writing furiously. She was close, she could feel it. She just needed to figure out what it was – but it was _there._

And then the door to the research division banged open, startling her and drawing her attention away from the task at hand. Gabriel walked the room to stand in front of her with his arms crossed.

"I've heard rumors that you haven't been taking care of yourself, doctor." She wondered which of her research assistants had alerted him to the way she was working herself. It didn't really matter, since she wouldn't punish them for worrying, but she wondered all the same.

"I'm in perfect health, Commander. I'm also very busy." She retorted, though she was probably stretching the truth. "Was there something you needed from me?" She had just sent them a response for the recon team they were sending out, but as far as she knew they had no further need for her.

"Do you even know what time it is?" Angela winced, both at his tone and at the fact that she did not. Probably late if he was in here scolding her like a child sneaking out to get just _one_ more glass of water.

"Twelve in the morning?" She hazarded; he was still awake, so there _was_ a possibility that it was still – relatively – early. He stared at her before shaking his head in exasperation.

"It's nearly three." How had it gotten so late? And for that matter, what was he still doing up? She should wrap it up here anyways, since he had interrupted her train of thought and there was no way of salvaging it.

"I must have lost track of time." Angela responded smoothly, no hint of the surprise at the time emerging from her tone. "Why are you still up?" She asked as she turned back to her table, carefully putting away her tools and equipment and shuffling her notes into a tidy pile. There was a (not-so) perfectly good reason for her being up, but she didn't think anyone else would be up just as late.

"Jack and I were caught up planning. We just called it a night." He explained, without really explaining anything. She raised an eyebrow.

"Uh-huh. And you just decided to waltz down here instead of going to your bed?" She asked, rising with a yawn. Now that she'd been made aware of it, she could feel exhaustion tugging at her. She was barely getting five hours of sleep most days, but it wasn't stopping her from keeping late nights.

"Like I said, I heard you've been working late these past few weeks. I figured I'd send you off to bed if you were still down here." He shook his head at her, but turned towards the door. "Come on, I'll walk you up."

"You just don't trust me to actually go to bed." She accused, but followed him anyway.

"Guilty as charged, doctor." He replied, holding the door for her. They walked in an amicable silence to the elevator. Once the doors were shut, he turned to look her over. "Is there anything you want to talk about, doc?"

She knew he was referencing their conversation from Naples. Angela glanced down, biting her lip and shaking her head softly. There was plenty for her to talk about – why she chose this project, why she had chosen to bury herself so soundly in her work, how she knew about every. single. death., how she needed a breakthrough to come soon or she might lose herself to her nightmares – but she didn't know how to breach that gap. Instead, she chose to keep herself closed away, protected by late nights, silence, and darkness. Gabriel sighed.

"Keeping that shit locked away won't help you, doc." He told her as the doors opened to the eighth floor. He walked her to her door, bid her a good night, and sought out his own bed.

She knew he was right, but what could she do? Silence and darkness had been her protector, where she could lose all of her shields and walls, even as it brought with it sleep that wreaked havoc in her mind.

* * *

That night marked a turning point. Every few days, one – or more – of the three would seek her out. Sometimes it was at lunch or dinner time, where they'd force her out of the lab for an hour to eat and relax. Other times it was later in the evening – not quite so late as that first night, but late enough – and force her to go to sleep. She had been tempted to sneak back to the lab, but she didn't want to draw their ire. They were being understanding enough. She began to bond with the other three, finding friendship that she hadn't expected to find – even from Jack.

It didn't stop her from holing herself away as often as possible for as long as possible, though. She knew they meant well, but she needed to do this. For all those people in the field, and for her sanity, she would do this.

A second month passed, and she finally found a break through – they didn't call her a medical genius for nothing. They were nearing the end of their research – at least on this topic – and Angela couldn't be more pleased. The sooner this was done, the sooner she could move on to the next research project and her next stepping stone.

* * *

The next time Gabriel sought her out – for dinner, as it were – she had a question for him. It was something she'd been considering for some time, but now with her research wrapping up she might be able to pursue it.

"Do you think I can get battlefield training?" She asked as they sat down in the canteen, trays of food before them. He choked on his water, coughing harshly and clearing his throat, before looking at her incredulously.

"Excuse me?" He placed the water carefully on the table, as if treating it gently would change her request.

"You heard me, Gabriel. I want to work in the field." More like _needed_ to work in the field. Now that they had the new-and-improved healing stream, it needed to be out in the field and so did she. There was so much good to be done, so much death to be avoided, on the front lines.

"I don't think it's a good idea, Angela." He said finally, before taking a bite out of his meal.

"Why not? You three are always out there." She retorted, crossing her arms across her chest and leaning back in her chair.

"Do you think it's a game? That we enjoy it?" He asked darkly, glaring at the blonde across from him. Her eyes widened.

"No, not at all!" Angela insisted, shaking her head. "I want to help. I hate watching the rest of you leave, wondering if you're returning in one piece or in a body bag – or somewhere in between!"

"And you think we want _you_ coming home in a body bag?" Angela winced.

"I can be trained for the battlefield, Gabriel." She insisted, leaning almost across the table. " _Please_. I need to be out there, saving our agents." She begged.

"Angela, we can't afford to lose you." His voice was firm. "Please, don't pursue this." She sighed, slumping her shoulders and easing back in defeat.

"Eat your lunch; you miss enough meals as it is." He stared her down until she took a grudging bite.

The rest of their meal was eaten in silence.

* * *

When Jack came to her a few days later – also to take her to dinner – she tried asking him, despite Gabriel's warning not to.

"I want to work in the field." She was almost positive Gabriel had already told the other two – mostly because she knew that _he_ knew that she was going to be stubborn – but she still had to try. Jack glanced over at her and pressed the elevator call button.

"And why do you think we'd let you do that?" He asked, not letting on whether or not Gabriel _had_ talked to him. She stared at him, but she couldn't come up with a good reason as to why they would let _her_ over anyone else – but she knew why _she_ needed it. Still, she had to try.

"So that I can heal and protect those on the front lines; to reduce the amount of deaths and career-ending injuries; so that proper prioritized care can be provided at all time, from the time of injury to the time of extraction; so that I can watch your back before you get another bullet put in it," she counted the reasons off on her fingers, "and because I can't keep watching the three of you from the sidelines anymore. I want to _do_ something, to make a difference." Jack nodded.

"I understand, Angela, but it's not that simple. You're not a soldier. You can't even protect yourself – and I doubt you would, even if you could." She wanted to be offended at his words, but she couldn't, not when he was right. She couldn't bear to see another in pain, it went against everything she held dear. It was the main driving force for why she wanted to be on the battlefield in the first place. Hurting another with her own hands… she couldn't imagine it. "It would be too dangerous. You're better off here – or in another base, preparing for our wounded." The doors slid open.

"There are others who can take your place on the battlefield, but there is no one who can replace you here." His voice was apologetic, even as he denied her request. She bit her lip but nodded. He was right – there were other people that could take her place on the battlefield. It wasn't what they had brought her in for; she was needed for her innovative genius and skills in her infirmary.

"For what it's worth, Angela, I am sorry."

"I know, Jack. It's alright." It wasn't alright, it was the absolute opposite of alright, but there was no use arguing when his mind was made up. He was like her in that regard.

* * *

Ana was no better.

"I know what you want, Angela. You've already been told no." The older woman greeted her when Angela followed her after a meeting. Angela frowned, and sighed. At least she didn't pretend that they weren't all talking about the good doctor's latest crazy idea. That was kind of her, at least. "Even if I wanted to let you onto the field – which I don't – we need you here." Her voice was kind. "I know you don't want to stay behind and see us get hurt, but your heart is too gentle for the battlefield." And that was the sticking point; as long as she was who she was they wouldn't let her within ten miles of a battlefield.

Angela knew they were coming from a good place, that they weren't _purposely_ trying to frustrate her – they were trying to protect her from the horror of battle and from, you know, getting hurt or killed. It didn't make it any less frustrating. She wasn't asking to be handed a gun and thrown in front of the enemy, but they were acting like the moment she was a member of a team she'd fall over dead.

"My skills would be valuable on the battlefield, Ana." She insisted as the two walked towards the elevators. "I just need a little training." Okay, maybe a lot of training – she wasn't really sure how well she would fare on a battlefield.

"Dear, you would need more than "a little" training." Ana corrected gently. "You don't have the ability to keep up with the soldiers or avoid the bullets. And all the training in the world won't save you if you're hit – and there's only one of you."

"But there's only one of _you_ – and _Jack_ and _Gabriel_ – but you go out on the battlefield! I put Jack back together a few months ago!" She flushed at the whine that had crept into her voice, she didn't want to be treated like a child and sounding like one wouldn't help, but damn it they couldn't wrap her in wool!

"Angela, we fought in the Omnic Crisis, long before Overwatch existed. We are more than prepared for the battlefield." _You are not_ rang unsaid in the silence.

"We just want to keep you safe, Angela. Let us protect you." Ana told her, placing a comforting hand on her shoulder.

"But if you're protecting me, who's protecting you?"


	6. Desperation

**Desperation**

* * *

I'm back! Shorter chapter, but next one should be pretty fun!

Let me know what you guys think - good, bad, whatever; I love getting feedback!

* * *

"Alright, doc, let's wrap it up." Angela glanced up at the clock to find it was midnight already. She glanced back at Gabriel before turning her attention to her work before her.

"Just a sec, Gabriel. Give me a few minutes." It was the same line she fed each of them whenever they came down to her lab to drag her away. As always, he sighed and sat in a nearby chair, spinning idly as he waited for her to finish and put her tools away.

They'd finalized the healing stream upgrades just the other day; it could heal wounds faster, but they hadn't managed to get it to cooperate with removing anything larger than a .30 round – which was, admittedly, better but still wouldn't help for a large portion of injuries. The only downside was the amount of power required; that forced them to be used in the bases and not on the field, which was the whole point.

She was heading up a solo project, trying to make it work on the battlefield, while her team returned to forcing the technology to work on multiple people. She was getting in their way and had been considering for some time moving into her office – or setting up another one for her to research in privately – to make it easier on everyone. It would also help her with a project she wanted to work on without the others noticing – or knowing.

Ana had said she wasn't capable of keeping up, and that was completely true. She simply didn't have the time to dedicate to maintain the level of fitness required like the rest of her combat medics, not with her responsibilities to _every_ infirmary under the Overwatch umbrella as well as all the medical researchers – plus there was her travel when things got dicey.

That didn't mean she couldn't _make_ something that could give her an edge. Technology was amazing and could create limbs out of metal and knit flesh with light; if she put her mind to it, she could make it happen. But if her friends – her _superiors_ – found out what she was doing, they'd pull the plug faster than her head could spin. It had to be done in secret, at least until she could prove that she _was_ capable.

"I'm thinking of moving into my office to research from now on." She said idly, standing up with a stretch. "Not to do anything dangerous – that requires the lab still, of course – but to do everything that comes before."

"Really? What brought this on?" He asked, returning to his feet and leading her towards the door.

"I'm still working on fine tuning the healing stream, but all the other researchers have been assigned other projects. We're getting under each other's feet and it's really frustrating on all sides." She sighed. "I just wanted to let you know, so that if you can't find me that's probably where I'll be."

"Thanks for the heads up. I'll let the others know." Angela nodded. She knew he would; he was the one who had convinced the other two that she needed baby sitters. It was annoying, since the whole reason she was throwing herself headlong into her research was to try to avoid the pain of more deaths and the nightmares that came with them, and they were stopping her from achieving her goal. Still, she knew they were coming from a good place – so she didn't complain _too_ much.

Angela stepped into the elevator and braced herself on the wall, closing her eyes. Today had been long, but not long enough. She could feel it. She heard the doors shut and the elevator began to hum and vibrate slightly as it lifted them up the nine floors. They traveled in silence – which wasn't all too uncommon – with her lost in thought.

"Angela?" Her eyes slid open, mildly startled – she hadn't noticed the elevator come to a stop. The doors were open and Gabriel was halfway out, his frame blocking the door from shutting. "You alright?"

"Yeah, sorry Gabriel." She muttered, rolling her neck and stepping out of the elevator after him.

"Are you sure?" He asked, glancing down at her. She worried her lip, and with a sigh shook her head. "Want to talk about it?

Did she want to talk, really? No. She kept her feelings close to her chest and suffered the nightmares alone. She never let it affect her work – she was almost always the first to work and the last to leave, working long hours with less rest and food than those around her. In fact, it spurred her to work harder, to do better, so that maybe more people could be saved.

Maybe if she opened up a bit – about her nightmares, Naples, and the KIA reports she endured – maybe she could convince him that she needed to work outside of the bases. It wasn't a _terrible_ plan, all things considered, but it might help. If she could get his understanding, maybe she could get Ana's and Jack's.

She might even get them to back off at let her work unhindered if he'd call the others off, if he understood exactly why she threw herself into her work with no regard for herself or the time. It wasn't just because she had a strong work ethic – though she did possess one of those as well.

If she was lucky, maybe the nightmares would let up, just a little. She knew the bags under her eyes were from more than just long nights and early days – and she was pretty sure Gabriel did too.

Besides, she was just so damn tired. It wasn't just a physical exhaustion, but also a mental one. She kept everything so close to her chest, and there was no escaping it here. She _literally_ lived it, all day every day, and each day found her with more reasons to be guilty and more reasons to berate herself. Like he had said, she really _should_ talk to someone. He was right about that – and he'd cared enough to offer to her months ago, before he even knew her.

She nodded glumly. Yes, she wanted to talk about it – even as much as she didn't want to.

"I want to talk about Naples." He glanced over at her sharply; it was obvious he hadn't expected her to say that. It had hung over them, between them; an unspoken question, for far too long, and she was willing to bet he'd expected to never get an answer. Then again, it had been months since that incident; maybe he didn't expect it to bother her anymore.

It was hard to be unbothered when you dream of their deaths.

She wasn't sure she wanted to talk within the confines of her room – or his – at midnight; it felt too much like an invasion of privacy, too intimate for friends, but they were already up here. Still, she had brought this upon herself; if she'd brought it up in the basement they could have gone to her office or _literally_ anywhere else, but she hadn't and now she was stuck with this. She shifted awkwardly under his gaze, embarrassed for even bringing it up – she was an adult and she could deal with it on her own, no need to bother anyone else about it.

"I know it's late, and I know we're both busy," she was babbling, she knew it, "so if you'd rather not that's fine, don't worry about it," just stop talking, Angela, "I can figure it out on my own, I shouldn't have-"

"Angela." Gabriel's voice silenced her abruptly, and she flushed. "It's fine. I've got time." She nodded, worrying her lip, before striding off to her room. They could sit in the living area that still wasn't quite put together after all this time, that would be fine, right? She swiped her card to let them in and flipped on the light.

"Go ahead and sit anywhere, make yourself at home." This _wasn't_ awkward, it _wasn't_. Gabriel was completely cool and she was acting like an idiot, but all she could think about was what _others_ would think if they saw Gabriel leaving her rooms after midnight – though why anyone else would be up was beyond her. They were friends, but even attempting to insist that was all it was would just get her knowing, sidelong looks and gossip as she walked past. She already put to bed Gloria's outrageous insinuations that she had slept with one – or both, possibly at the same time – of the Commanders to get her position and she didn't want to revisit it, even if she'd already proven herself more than capable.

She crossed the room to grab a bottle of water. She probably could do with something stronger, especially given the rats nest she just decided to dive into, but it was what she had.

"Want one?" She offered, and then grabbed another when he nodded yes. He'd sat on the end of one of her couches, and, after giving him his water, she curled up on the loveseat across from it. She took a long swig.

"So. Naples?" Gabriel started, when it was obvious she was at a loss for words or was just hesitant to break the silence between them.

"Right. Naples." She replied. If she closed her eyes, she could probably see the operating rooms again – she decided to keep them open. "It goes back a bit farther than Naples." She admitted. He stayed quiet, letting her pick her own way through what she wanted to say. Angela worried about saying too much, to say something that should never be said – not to him, not so long as he was Overwatch, was _Commander_ – but forced the thought away. She was here now.

"I don't play God – at least I don't think I do – not like other doctors or surgeons might." She knew she was more skilled than others here – than others at previous hospitals, even – but she tried to stay humble as much as possible. She was open to suggestions and to critique, as long as it was constructive. She pulled rank when it was necessary and did her best to give all of her patients – across the globe, now – the best care possible. She trusted her staff to do their jobs, that she wasn't the _only_ one that was capable of seeing patients.

"I give my all to my patients; they're all that matters, you know? They need to get better, and I can do that – whether it's with stitches or with the healing stream, I can do that. I can put the pieces back together." She closed her eyes – not for too long, but there was the blood on linoleum floor – and opened them again before the patient could come into view.

"But when a patient dies? When my best, when my all, isn't good enough and their lives slip through my fingers? It is the worst feeling in the entire world. That life is gone, and I didn't save it." She blew out a shaky breath, eyes focused on the floor so that he couldn't see the emotions swimming in them. She didn't need to see his face, his body language; she just needed someone that would listen to words that had never seen the light of day. She needed to pretend that there wasn't water on her cheeks for another to see.

"When they're gone, a weight settles on my shoulders, around my neck, my throat, and it's everything I can do sometimes to keep breathing." Her hands fluttered uselessly around her neck, trying to explain the feeling and failing. "It's like a scarf of guilt and sorrow and shame, all rolled into one." These were feelings that she had carried since the beginning of her medical career, and yet she kept at it. The chain of guilt dragged at her, but she forced herself to carry the weight upon her shoulders, her heart, her soul.

"That's normal, Angela." He broke in, but she didn't glance up. "You're human; you're gonna feel guilty about their deaths." She smiled, a thin, brittle gesture, and shook her head bitterly.

"That scarf never gets smaller; it just keeps getting bigger. The guilt never leaves me." Her expression turned remorseful. "I can still remember the first patient that died under my care – I'd tell you about her if it wasn't against all kinds of laws – when I first started my residency years ago. I remember the latest agent – Alfonso Rodriguez in Brazil, who I didn't travel to see because we're too far away to make a damn bit of good for him, who died after seven hours on the operating table from six gunshot wounds: four to the chest, one to the leg, and a graze across the temple. I can remember the rest in between." Of course she remembered them. They haunt her nightmares, waiting for the right time to pounce. Her latest hell was the KIA reports, which came with graphic pictures – and then it was all too easy to imagine operating on them, and failing them, herself.

She was imaginative like that.

"They haunt my dreams – my nightmares. All the patients that I've had die under my watch – my patients in the hospital, my agents in the field." She whispered, probably barely loud enough for him to hear but it was enough for her.

"Like in Naples." Gabriel said, and she nodded.

"Like in Naples." Angela confirmed. "Though Naples was its own special kind of terrible." Before Naples – and since – she'd never dreamed of a patient that survived. Now, when she dreamed of Huang and Campbell she'd sometimes see Jack – and he'd die. She could never save him in her dreams, because to see him meant she'd saved one – or both – of the other two. She was certain that it was the guilt of the other two that she'd put off that had triggered it, but it was still disconcerting. Some mornings she found herself needing to double check that he was alive – that it was a dream, not real – and she'd check the patient logs and reassure herself that there was no entry on the "date of death" line.

"I dream of them – Huang and Campbell. Not as often as when it first happened, but they show up with the others of my past." She wrung her hands, pressing too tightly but it helped ground her and make her force the words out – she'd done this to herself and she'd see it through. "But sometimes," voice choked, she finally looked up to Gabriel, who was watching her intently with not sign of judgement, not yet, but she _had_ to see his response, "sometimes, I see Jack too."

Gabriel didn't disappoint. He looked shocked, and he ran a hand over his closely shaved head, at a loss for words. He looked away from her gaze, before returning to hers with clenched hands, his expression still shocked, but also filled with fierce determination and anger.

"Jack didn't die, Angela. He's a few doors down right now." He said, voice low and full of danger. "Is there something you left out in your reports?" He suddenly stood, as if he couldn't have this conversation sitting down. She shook her head quickly. Of course that was his first concern: the commander, his best friend, who could have been damaged under her hands – the hands that let two others die that day to save him. "Did he die on your table?" _Did you bring him back?_ rang unspoken in the room.

"No. He never coded, not under my hands nor under any others. He didn't die, I swear it." Angela insisted, her hands fisting in her lap, nails biting into her palms hard enough to draw blood. That he'd think she'd blatantly lie was absurdly offensive.

"If he didn't die, then why is he in your dreams, Angela?" He practically growled. This wasn't how she imagined this conversation; she'd never imagined he'd get so worked up.

"Because, Gabriel," she forced herself to keep her eyes on his face, "I could have saved them, but not if I saved Jack." The words were bitter and ugly and all kinds of wrong, but they were a truth she had worn on her heart since that day. Even as she worried that she shouldn't have said it, that it would come back to bite her, she felt a little relieved.

She'd never _truly_ had to pick between patients before, not on this level. Patient surgeries would be moved around, reprioritized – no, that benign tumor removal wasn't as urgent as the appendectomy, which wasn't more important than the man with half of his stomach outside of his body – but they would all be seen. For the first time, she was responsible for choosing who was most important, and putting someone ahead without regard to injury but with complete regards to who they were had never been a possibility on her radar until long after she'd made the decision. It had been so right, felt so right, that she hadn't questioned it, because Jack was the commander, and without the commander Overwatch would be compromised, would be less, and how did that help the world?

"What the hell does that even mean?" Gabriel snapped after a moment, and she sighed again, delving into the memories and the nightmares.

"Ana had called, letting us know you were only a few minutes away. Then she told me that Jack was hurt and coming to Naples. Without seeing the patients that were coming in, without any other knowledge, I made Jack my priority. He was to be seen by me, only me, the rest be damned. I can't say if my choice was good or bad, right or wrong. Neither can you." She threw her hand up when he opened his mouth to speak; she wasn't done. She couldn't stop, wouldn't stop, until the words came out – she wasn't sure she could stop even if he begged her to.

"What I can say is that two people died that day. If I had waited and looked the three over, maybe there would have been more survivors. Maybe Jack would have died." She drew in a ragged breath.  
"Instead, I chose Jack." She felt the tears on her face, but ignored them – if she acknowledged them she would be incapable of speech. "I chose Jack, and I'm glad he lived. I don't regret it." And she didn't. Jack was important and he made a lot of difference in the world at the head of Overwatch; many who lived were saved due to his judgment or action in the field. Two agents were nothing compared to that, as much as it twisted and pained her heart, as terrible and awful as it made her feel as a person, she could not change that truth.

She was capable of weighing life against life and picking who was most worthy. It made her heart hurt, her soul ache, but she could – and would – make those choices and allow some to die so others would live. That was the person she was becoming, the person she had to become to be worthy of the position she held, and she didn't know if she could face herself in the mirror.

"But two people died, and maybe one more could have lived if I let Jack wait just a little while or if I'd let someone else take point on his surgery." Her voice turned bitter and the words came faster, as if a small leak had suddenly turned into a flood. "But it's my duty to do the most good, and Jack was the most good – even if his life came at the cost of two others." She scrubbed at her eyes, her cheeks, embarrassed at the emotion.

"That, Gabriel, is why I dream of Jack. Because my duty to him, to you, to this entire organization, forced me to choose him over more critical patients, patients that bled out under my hands, _and I don't regret it._ " Her voice broke, hands rising to her lips as if it would hide the sound. She tilted her head down, loose strands of hair fanning around her face, waiting for him to yell at her – tell her that her thoughts were wrong, she was wrong, that this entire conversation was _wrong_.

The words that should never have been said, not to anyone – especially not to Overwatch – had been said. She couldn't take it back, there was no turning back.

"I choose _._ " Angela whispered, voice thick, the silence roaring in her ears. "I choose who lives and who dies." She buried her face in her hands, shaking with emotion even as she tried to pull herself back together.

She felt the cushions of the couch shift under her as his weight settled on the couch next to her. Their shoulders brushed as he got comfortable. When he relaxed against the back of the couch, they weren't touching, but it was a very near thing; the couch wasn't that spacious and he wasn't exactly a small man. She didn't, couldn't, wouldn't look at him – but whether it was from shame or fear she couldn't tell. They sat in silence, him waiting while she regained her composure, her waiting for him to speak.

"Angela." His voice was still rough, but much calmer than it was before he'd set her off. She hunched her shoulders, waiting for the reprimand that was sure to come. He sighed. "Angela, I'm sorry I yelled at you."

Of all the things for him to say, an apology was nowhere on the list of things she'd expected.

"It's okay." She muttered, wiping at overfull eyes in a vain attempt to exert some control over herself, she was an _adult_ , there was nothing to cry about. A little while later, when she managed to get the waterworks to go away and had taken a swig of water, Gabriel spoke again.

"Are you sure you want this? Overwatch?" A jolt of fear surged through her; the absolute last thing she needed was to make him, the others, doubt her ability to perform her duties.

"Yes!" She replied fiercely, glaring up at him with slightly-red eyes. "I need Overwatch as much as it needs me; I was foolish not to see it before." And it was true. She needed the ability Overwatch gave her to make a difference, to help people, and being taken from it would be somewhat akin to cutting her arm off. Her duty, her calling, was to helping others – even with the guilt and shame that came with it. Gabriel put his hands up defensively.

"Just checking." He ran a hand over his head, and leaned back into the couch. "If you ever change your mind, if it ever gets to be too much, you don't have to stay." He told her sincerely, though his gaze was fastened to the wall. "I won't – _we_ won't – force you to stay."

"Nobody is forcing me, _Commander_." She retorted, the title pulling his gaze back to her. Her voice softened. "Gabriel. I won't run and hide; my guilt and my shame guides me and strengthens me – even as it tears me down. I bury myself in my work – not only to forget and exhaust myself, but to remember and do better for the next patient down the line."

"As long as you're sure." She nodded, shoulders relaxing back into the couch next to him.

After another long silence, but one not filled with tears, he rose from the couch.

"Do you still need me, doc?" He asked gently. She shook her head. It was late and she'd said all she needed. The darkness could hold her for the rest. "Then I'm going to head to bed. You should do the same."

"I will, Gabriel." The blonde rose from the couch with a small stretch. "Thank you for listening."

"Anytime, Angela." She shifted awkwardly on her feet as he headed to the door. He'd just pulled the door open when she blurted out, "Please don't tell them about tonight." They both knew she meant Jack and Ana; she couldn't stand it if all three of them knew her thoughts, her shame. Ana would just try to coddle her more and Jack might just fire her if she got any more difficult.

"Your secrets' safe with me, doc. Don't worry." He stepped into the hall and let the door shut behind him. She turned away, preparing for sleep. When she finally crawled into her bed, there weren't any tears.

But when she opened them, she was in the operating room.

* * *

The next day she shifted her research base to her office, where she was more productive in all aspects. Reports were easily dealt with as her hands scribbled notes and ideas; her mind was in a hundred different places, from mission rosters to research and back to reports from different watchpoints and bases across the globe.

She thought it would be awkward with Gabriel, that he'd treat her differently after practically crying into his shoulder for most of the night, but she was wrong. He treated her the same way he always did. The others didn't know, he had kept his promise to her, and that made her even more grateful.

Nearly three weeks later she had finalized the design for both of her research projects – both the secretive one as well as the much more public one. She started the creation process, putting life to her work, carefully ensuring that her secret project was kept from prying, caring eyes. Even though she knew she was disobeying orders, that it would just cause her more heartbreak, she had to go into the field. She _had_ to.

She hadn't finished the prototypes when her phone lit up, the ringing interrupting her concentration. She rolled backwards to grab the phone, resting it between her shoulder and ear carefully, and began working again.

"Dr. Ziegler." She acknowledged.

"Angela, we need you in the control room right away." Jack's voice ordered.

"Verstanden. I will be up in five minutes." She hurried to put her tools away and hide away the suit she had been building. Once it was created she would have to show them, there was no way to hide the testing, but she was hoping that by then they'd at least give her a chance. After everything was in its proper place, she grabbed her white lab coat and left the room quickly.

The elevator was far too slow for her liking, but she made it to the fourth floor without any issues. She moved towards the control room at a quick trot, darting past a handful of people that were going about their business, before knocking sharply on the door.

Ana pulled the door open and ushered her inside quickly.

"There's been an attack." She murmured to the doctor as they strode towards the men standing at the far side. The whole room was a technological marvel, with many screens on the far wall showing off what looked to be the result of an explosion. Normally it could show cameras from anywhere in the world, or various drones that were sent out for reconnaissance. Her eyes locked on the screens, which showed people moving throughout the rubble and looking for survivors.

"This is Vaduz, Liechtenstein. A Blackwatch team was sent here early yesterday morning. Thirty minutes ago, this building, thought to contain that team, was bombed by Talon." Jack explained as she watched the screens.

"What do you need from me?" She asked breathlessly, tearing her eyes away from the rubble to glance at the blonde man next to her.

"We need a medic. Blackwatch Commander Stefano Bianchi was on that team." Angela turned to the table in the center of the room. It was just as technologically inclined as the wall behind her, and she used it to access her personnel files. She could send Lambert – no, he was in Egypt, she forgot; Daigneau had broken his collarbone in the field last mission and was still out; Remington was with another team; she flipped through her combat medics, but found all of them out in the field, too far away, or out of commission, either through illness, injury, or vacation. She closed her eyes.

"I don't have a medic, Commander." She whispered, the title slipping past her lips to emphasize just how serious her statement was.

"What do you mean, you don't have a medic? There should be _someone_." Jack retorted, coming to stand at her shoulder to look at the files with her.

"Look." She told him, pointing at the names. "These are injured – and only time can heal bones. Those two are on vacation. That section is in the field. Those are available, but they are much too far away to do any good." She reported, the words coming easily as she gave him bad news. Situation didn't change facts. "I hadn't realized there were none left in Zürich." There were plenty of medics, but they were too many hours away from the explosion in their backyard.

"God damnit!" Jack yelled, turning away from the table. Angela flinched and bowed her head, knowing the blame was on her. If she hadn't been so distracted with her research, with going behind their backs, she would have noticed and this entire situation could have been avoided. Still, they needed someone – and there was only one choice.

"I'll go." Angela whispered.

"What was that?" Ana asked from her place near the televisions, where she was monitoring the situation.

"I'll go." She raised her voice, squaring her shoulders against the three in the room. Jack whipped around to stare at her, mouth moving without words.

"Absolutely not. We've already discussed this; you _aren't_ going into the field." Gabriel supplied for him, arms crossed as he glared from across the table. She met his gaze with steely determination.

"Are the three of you going to whip a medic out of the air, then?" She looked between the three of them, crossing her arms and shifting her weight to one side. "There is _no one_ left in Zürich. That is due to my carelessness and I will face the consequences of my actions later – but Commander Bianchi doesn't have a later."

"I'm the only option you've got." Her voice trembled slightly, but she clenched her jaw resolutely, hoping they couldn't hear her nerves. She only hoped she was up to the task. She hadn't managed to complete the tools she needed to be more successful, she hadn't convinced them to let her train, but she would have to make due. They had to.

Jack ran his fingers through his hair, cursing under his breath. Angela watched him, trying to keep her eagerness – and nerves and terror – hidden behind a calm, serene façade developed from years in the medical field. She doubted she was successful.

"Fine, damn you Angela." He finally said, knowing a decision needed to be made quickly. "You will stay with Gabriel or me at all times, do you understand me?" He rounded on her, pointing one finger at her face. "You _will_ come back in one piece." Jack turned to Ana. "Get her equipped. We leave as soon as she's ready."

"Yes, Jack. Come on, Angela, we need to move." Ana replied, all business. The two women left at a brisk pace, leaving the men to turn to look at the televisions once more.

"Are you not going?" Angela asked the woman when they came to a stop in a room two floors down. It was filled with all kinds of guns and packs. This was clearly the armory, a place that she'd never once needed to set foot in.

"Of course I'm going, dear." Ana replied, glancing through the armory and grabbing various items.

"But Jack told me to stick with him and Gabriel." She replied, watching the woman raid the room. She never asked what their skills were – it didn't matter – so aside from occasionally spotting them with their guns and helping patch them up, she had no idea what they did.

"I'm a sniper, Angela. I'll be watching over you from afar." Ana smiled reassuringly over her shoulder at the blonde doctor. "Don't worry too much. I'll bring us home safely." Angela smiled back, a little nervously, and nodded.

* * *

When she and Ana boarded the helicopter fifteen minutes later, she was overflowing with supplies. Gone was her medical coat and heels; in their place was a blue-and-white medic's uniform. Around her waist was a clever belt that allowed her to hang most of her tools – scalpel, pliers, and the like – and some supplies. At her right hip was also a small pistol that Ana had insisted she take, just in case. Angela doubted she would even remember how to take the safety off, but there was no time to argue about it. Instead, it hung heavily at her side and she tried to ignore it. On her back was a pack filled with the rest of her tools – including one of the original healing stream wands repurposed for the battlefield, since the newer ones were for operating room use.

She fumbled with the unfamiliar straps, usually taking a separate direct transport whenever she had to fly, and Ana leaned over to help fasten her in. Angela blushed, embarrassed and feeling like a child, and mumbled her thanks.

They were the last to board, and the helicopter started moving before Ana managed to get herself strapped in. Across from them, Jack and Gabriel were talking in low voices, impossible to decipher over the noise of their transport. There were several other soldiers on the helicopter, including a man decked out in metal armor. Ana leaned over to Angela so she could be heard.

"We should arrive in thirty minutes; be prepared."


	7. Bullets

**Bullets**

* * *

I'm back! Thanks to Aparies for the review!

Let me know what you think by leaving a review - good or bad, I don't bite!

* * *

They landed in a field near the bombing; there were a lot of fields in the small capitol. Angela was one of the first ones off, stepping off behind Jack with Ana at her back. In her arms were two poles, to go with the fabric in her backpack to make a stretcher. Her body was humming with nerves – she was here, she was doing _this_ , what was she _doing?_ – and she would stick to those men like glue, because her life probably depended on it. The little communication device in her ear sparked to life now that they were on the ground, allowing them to stay in contact even when they spread out.

"We're a little under a kilometer out," Jack said, his voice coming from the device as well as before her, "Ana, get into position and let us know what you see."

"Roger that, Commander." Ana replied, clapping Angela on the shoulder as she passed. "I'll be watching over you; try to stay out of trouble." She reassured, and then she was gone.

Jack called out more orders – most of which she didn't understand the purpose of, but then again, she wasn't the one receiving them – before forcing the group to move out at a fast trot, a pace even she could keep up with. She felt a little exposed, following a step behind the two commanders at the head of the pack into danger, but there was nothing to be done.

Once they got within a block of their target, Jack held up a fist. Gabriel responded by putting an arm out to make sure she stopped as well, though she knew he was telling them to pause – albeit that knowledge came from stupid movies.

"Ana?" His voice, barely a whisper in front of her, crackled to life in her ear.

"I'm in position. One sniper to the north and there's movement inside, no telling if it's friendly." Angela had wondered why a full team had been assembled for the extraction; surely there was no need once the bomb went off. The other three had explained that, in some cases, the attack was meant to draw out the first responders, before killing them too. They had a plan, and hopefully it would keep them all from getting killed. Jack made a motion with his hand and the rest of the team peeled off, splitting up as directed to approach from two directions. Jack led one of the teams, Gabriel and Angela taking up the rear.

"Ana, take out the sniper." Jack ordered quietly. Shortly afterwards, Angela flinched as a shot echoed through the air.

"Enemy down." Ana reported after a long moment.

After that it was chaos. Gabriel kept her back, away from the fighting, guns drawn as he peered out from their cover to keep an eye on the firefight. She hadn't realized how loud it was, with the gunfire, feet pounding on concrete, and screams from the injured or dying. Angela forced herself to keep her hands away from her ears, watching Gabriel and waiting for him to move her along. This was what she wanted; she only had one chance to prove she would be of use.

As the combat died down a short while later, with the enemy dead and their men moving inside, Gabriel directed her to follow him out of cover. The came upon one of their own, left behind like rubbish. There was blood down his chest and his eyes were glassy; despite that, when they drew level Angela knelt at his side to see if anything could be done.

"Angela!" Gabriel hissed. She searched for a pulse and found none, closing her eyes briefly before rising to her feet once more. He grabbed her elbow to pull her along. "We don't have time to stop; our priority is Bianchi." They didn't even know where the Blackwatch commander _was_ , surely they could stop for the wounded?

"I am this strike teams' medic, not Commander Bianchi's medic." She replied, raising her voice slightly to be heard over the chatter of machine guns. If someone could be saved on this mission, she would make it happen.

"Just stay with me, Angela." Gabriel said eventually, giving her arm a shake before letting go. "Please."

They entered the building, air thick with dust and debris from the explosion. The line was quiet, with a handful of reports clearing rooms, and the occasional gunshot echoed down the hallway. Angela focused on staying at Gabriel's back as he picked their path through the first room with guns drawn.

There were dead littered about, as well as one wounded woman that she could do nothing for, not without blood stock Angela didn't have; she'd landed on exposed rebar and was already nearing death. Though the wounds would be easily handled, the lack of blood would not; she couldn't even give the woman something to ease her passing, for fear of using up the supplies needed for the living. Pained, Angela let her protector lead her away from the dying woman.

"We've found him." A voice from the comm unit drew her attention, mostly because Gabriel paused and raised a hand – still holding one of those guns – to his ear to activate his microphone.

"Where?" He glanced back at Angela, as if to reassure himself that she was still with him, as if she'd have left his side in this hellhole.

"Two floors down, on the left." The man responded. "You should hurry; it's really bad."

* * *

Two floors down was harder to find than expected, with random debris blocking normal paths and forcing them to go through holes in the wall. It got worse the further down they went, making it apparent that the bomb had been placed on the lower floors, rather than the upper. Gabriel had put away a gun to help Angela over a pile of wall, since there was no other way down but the stairwell, when Ana's voice cut in.

"Enemies sighted. I count twelve, converging on the building." Gabriel's hand tightened on Angela's – an involuntary response to the report, probably – and eased her down carefully. Before he could respond, Jack's voice came to life on the line.

"Reinhardt, your team needs to keep them out of the building." That order was for the guard the two of them had passed on the way down, protecting their backs.

"On it, Commander! We will hold them here!" A booming voice with a strong German accent responded exuberantly.

"I'm bringing my men up. Reyes, where are you?"

"We're exiting the stairwell now, heading to Bianchi." Gabriel reported, leading Angela to the left. Bodies were on the floor, most dead, but Gabriel's hand firmly clutched her arm and pulled her past before she could determine which were still breathing. He holstered one weapon and grabbed her again, pulling her along as he searched for their wayward commander.

"In here, Commander." One of their agents stepped out of a room and gestured for them to enter. Gabriel hurried Angela within, turning to the agent that had led them in.

"Guard the stairwell. Don't let anyone down here." The man saluted and sprinted off while Angela took in the Blackwatch commander. She paled and dropped to her knees at the mans' side like a rock, dropping the poles for the stretcher and ripping her pack off her back.

"Ga- Commander." Her tongue tripped over the title, so used to using the first name that was inappropriate for the setting. He turned to look at her, and then swore when he saw what she was looking at. Bianchi's legs were buried under debris, and there was no chance of shifting it without heavy equipment they didn't possess.

"I might be able to amputate." Angela offered half-heartedly, searching for the tools for just that. Mercifully, Bianchi was unconscious; she just hoped he'd stay that way. "But we need to get him out of here as soon as I do." She looked up at him. "I can stabilize him, but he won't last long."

Then her attention turned away from him. She vaguely heard him speaking on the channel to Jack, Ana, relaying her words, but she ignored it. All that existed was her and the patient who was in _terrible_ condition. She propped the healing stream up against the debris, aiming it at wounds that it could deal with while she grabbed bandages and sutures to deal with the worst, to stem the bleeding and stabilize his condition until they could get him out.

" _Angela_." Gabriel's voice was right at her ear in a tone that clearly expressed he'd been trying to get her attention. She stilled her hands long enough to glance up at the man, showing she was paying attention, before looking back to Bianchi. "Start amputating. The way will be clear soon." She nodded resolutely.

"I need twenty minutes, and your hands." He could hold the healing stream – thank God she brought one – which would help keep the man from bleeding out, while she cut off his legs at the knee. Even with a tourniquet, she didn't have enough hands or bandages to keep the man alive if not for the technology.

"Angela, I have to guard the door." He insisted, and she glared up at him briefly.

"Do you want the Commander to live?" She demanded. There was no one else around and she needed a second set of hands – and then some, but she'd take what she could get. "They've got it taken care of upstairs. You set a guard for the stairs; you'll have _plenty_ of time to get your guns if you need it." Bianchi didn't have time for this. "Give me your hands."

"I'm not a doctor, Angela." She bit back a laugh. Of _course_ he wasn't a doctor, she wasn't an idiot. She wouldn't even be in this mess if he was a doctor.

"I know that. You just need to be able to hold the healing stream and point it – just like with your guns." Her hands finished the sutures and then set those tools to the side. She grabbed the saw – she hated the saw – and looked up at Gabriel. "Get down here, and if you need to vomit don't do it on him." He scowled but crouched next to her. Her hand lifted to the comm unit in her ear.

"Commander Morrison, he'll be ready in twenty minutes. We'll need four men to get us out." She didn't expect Gabriel to be willing to carry her patient, and she'd need her hands free to make sure he didn't die on the arduous trip out.

"Roger. Twenty minutes, Dr. Ziegler."

* * *

The next twenty minutes were extremely bloody. Gabriel looked ashen and Angela didn't blame him – the sound of bone being sawed was absolutely disturbing and make even her teeth clench. Still, she forced herself to cut, because if she didn't he would surely die. She could replace the limbs with metal in Zürich, but he had to survive to get them. As soon as she got through the first leg, pressing gauze against it to stem the bleeding, she glanced at Gabriel, mildly surprised he hadn't thrown up in the corner.

"Point the healing stream at his leg, as close as you can without touching. Put pressure on the gauze here." She ordered. "Let me know when the bleeding slows." It was bleeding sluggishly due to a tourniquet she'd tied and the stream would cut it down to a minimum.

"Yes, doc." He replied, but she'd already turned her attention to the other leg. Tourniquet in place, she started to cut.

She was nearly through the second leg when the sound of boots neared their room. Gabriel dropped the healing stream and rose, grabbing his guns to go to the door. Angela forced herself to ignore the potential danger, to finish what she started. She listened to his footsteps approach the door, but he didn't open it, leaving it closed to surprise the people approaching.

The door swung open and she hunched her shoulders, hands still sawing, waiting for a gunshot. Instead, she was greeted with voices. Since Gabriel hadn't shot them, she assumed they were friendly.

"Get that stretcher set up." She ordered over her shoulder as her saw hit the ground – if they were friendly then they could do their jobs. Angela tossed the saw away and grabbed more bandages and the discarded healing stream, directing its healing light onto the leg. "We need to go, now!" Angela heard movement behind her and assumed they were listening to her – they better be listening to her.

A scant minute later they were loading the Blackwatch commander onto the stretcher, then the new men were lifting the stretcher.

"We're heading towards the transport now." Gabriel reported. Angela propped the healing stream as best she could next to his leg and let the men shuffle him out the door.

"Got it. We'll clear a path for you." Angela and Gabriel followed the men out. They collected the guard at the stairs, making for seven people escorting the Commander – six if you only counted the ones who could actually defend him.

"What about the injured?" She whispered to Gabriel as they passed the lifeless bodies littering the corridor. There surely were some injured in the fight outside, and if there was anyone left that survived the blast from nearly two hours ago they should be saved too. She needed them to be saved. There had been too much death already.

"We'll do what we can, doc, but the Commander is the priority." She frowned at him and opened her mouth to argue, but he cut in again, grabbing her arm to stop her and let the other soldiers get out of earshot. "I know it's not what you want to hear, but what do you want me to do? There's still enemies out there and you _just_ cut the Commanders' legs off. We need to go."

"He had better be worth it, Gabriel." She shot back hotly and turned to follow the soldiers without a backwards glance. He caught up with her in a few steps, before pushing to walk ahead of her.

"Don't forget your orders, doctor." He reminded softly. "You need to stay behind me. It's dangerous above." She huffed, but nodded all the same. The blonde wasn't an idiot, as much as she felt like it in this new world of guns and danger. She would be safer at his back than leading the way. They made their way up the stairs and, except for the ridiculous amount of swearing it took to get the stretcher over and around the debris, the trek was uneventful.

"We're coming out." Gabriel reported once they were just inside the entry. "All clear?" There were guns still firing somewhere out there, and they couldn't move without confirmation. Their cargo was too valuable to risk.

"The way out is clear. Move quickly." Ana replied, but Angela could still hear the gunfire. Wasn't it too close? Shouldn't they wait?

"You heard her. Let's get going." The men burst into movement without hesitation, bolting out the door and down the path. Angela hurried to keep up with them, heart pounding, terrified of being left behind – though at the same time she felt like an idiot because she knew they wouldn't leave her here. They were nearly out when:

"Reyes, behind you!" Ana's voice cut in, urgent with warning. There was no one between herself and Gabriel, so that meant there was someone behind _her_ , someone who was going to hurt them, shoot them. Gabriel turned, eyes wide, and lurched towards her with one hand outstretched, the other reaching for a gun that he'd foolishly left holstered. Time slowed down as she tried to look behind her, but Gabriel's hands landed on her first and shoved her hard, slamming her hard against a wall. Pain flared and her vision blurred as her eyes watered when her head hit the wall, but it was all forgotten when she heard the gunshots.

He jolted with the impact, and Angela saw crimson spread through his blue-and-white Overwatch uniform in two spots. Her eyes widened as he lifted his gun and fired back before dropping to one knee with a grunt.

"Gabriel!" She darted out from the cover he'd shoved her into as he lost hold of his gun, praying it was safe. Her hand flew up to the comm unit, shaking so badly she could barely press the button. "Gabriel's been shot." She reported, voice trembling as she tried to take in the damage, forgetting that she should address him as Commander on a line with so many people. The line went crazy in her ear, but she ignored it. She couldn't answer their questions and deal with his wounds at the same time. He'd been hit in four places, but due to the way he'd turned she hadn't seen it originally.

"I've got you, I've got you." She murmured, more for herself than for him, cursing that she left the healing stream on the stretcher, that she couldn't carry the man who was much too heavy, that she was in the position to get shot at in the first damn place. Angela slid the backpack off again, yanking out her quickly dwindling store of bandages and a shot of morphine.

She also slid the gun Ana had given her off, setting it in the dirt beside her. She hoped, if she needed it, she could use it – that she could figure out how to use it because if there was a safety she had no idea how to turn it off, and she desperately hoped Ana wouldn't give her a gun that didn't have a safety. There was no one else, with Gabriel down and – she glanced over her shoulder – the other soldiers gone, carrying off the injured Blackwatch Commander. She looked the other way, towards the man that had shot at them, and didn't see movement.

"Angela, we need to get out of here." He groaned, trying to get up, as if he was in any condition to be giving orders. Angela firmly pushed down on his unwounded arm, before supporting him so he didn't fall on his face. She closed her eyes at a brief bout of vertigo – she must have hit her head harder than she thought, but with the adrenaline pumping and Gabriel bleeding she didn't have time to assess her head.

"You need to wait. I just need to slow the bleeding down." She insisted, turning back to her supplies. Surprisingly the man didn't argue with her, but she attributed that more to the pain he was in rather than her persuasive skills.

Quickly she prepped the morphine needle, before carefully inserting it and depressing the plunger slowly. "You're going to be alright." She would make him alright if it killed her. Then she set about trying to slow the bleeding before he died on the ground before her, wrapping the last of her bandages around him as tightly as possible, trying to put enough pressure to slow the blood flowing out of his chest, his back. The radio was still going in her ear, but she couldn't let it bother her, couldn't focus on it, even if her life depended on it – which it most probably did.

She'd almost finished when footsteps approached from the way they'd come. Angela dropped the bandages and scrambled to grab her gun with one hand, shoving Gabriel's at him with the other – not that he would be able to do much. Trembling hands held the gun too close, amateur fingers closing around the trigger without pulling it, as they drew closer. She'd ask Ana who was approaching, why she wasn't shooting them, but she was too busy clutching the gun in her hands for dear life, too worried that Gabriel might _actually_ _die_ for her – he took a bullet, _four_ bullets, for her, and now someone was coming and there was no one _but her_ left to protect them – to even consider trying.

A person came into view, and before she could realize that they were wearing Overwatch blue-and-white, she pulled the trigger. The gun fired releasing a quick burst of three bullets, surprising all three of them, even as she realized that it was just Jack – oh God she'd just shot at _Jack_. Thankfully, she couldn't aim worth anything and they embedded in the wall and ground harmlessly. She dropped the gun in horror as three more people followed him around the corner, guns at the ready; they relaxed when they saw the two of them, fortunately because they could have so easily ended them both in reaction to her foolish shots.

"Jack! I'm so sorry, but, but – Gabriel," she whimpered and turned back to the injured man in question. The bandages were already stained with his blood, and she hastened to finish tightening them.

"It's fine, Angela, it's fine." Jack soothed, moving closer cautiously – as if worried of getting shot again. "We're gonna get Reyes out of here, alright? Get your things." She nodded jerkily, then clutched her head against the momentary pain and vertigo. Then she was grabbing everything around her and shoving it haphazardly into her pack – including the gun that nearly shot Jack and one of Gabriel's guns. While she was packing and sliding it on her back, Jack and one of his men levered Gabriel up and wrapped an arm around his waist as Jack braced him from the side. "Here, carry this." The blonde commander passed her his gun as he kept his friend on his feet.

"I'm going to be fine, doc." Gabriel said, his voice rough from the pain. "You'll fix me up."

"Shush, don't talk." She retorted, but there was no heat in her voice. Her whole body was trembling, and all she could see – over and over in her mind – was Gabriel taking the bullets meant for her. He'd come in shot before, she'd patched him up before, but _seeing_ it happen – God, it was terrible. Why would they willingly go out and do this? He could have _died_ , but he didn't even hesitate when he pushed her out of the way. His blood was still on her fingers.

"Angela, stay with us." Jack's voice broke through her thoughts, and she found they'd pulled ahead of her. "Focus. We need to go." She nodded carefully, trying to pull herself together before speeding up to walk at Jack's right. One of Jack's men walked at her side, ready to keep her moving should her thoughts wander again. A second walked at Gabriel's left, just in case. The third took up the rear, ready to defend him.

Why was their transport so far away? Why had they thought that was a good idea, knowing they were going into a combat zone and were bringing back injured? Gabriel was going to bleed out before they even got there! She barely felt the hand on her arm, urging her to keep moving. It was hard to focus on the world around her, not with Gabriel bleeding and her head throbbing in time to her heartbeat.

Footsteps approached, this time from ahead of them. Jack seized his gun from her grasp with his right hand before she even registered it, holding it before him carefully. Angela had no idea how he'd manage to shoot it, with his entire left side holding Gabriel up, but he looked rather determined. The soldier at her side stepped before her, gun at the ready. Fortunately, it was the men she was with before bringing the stretcher back for Gabriel. They loaded the man up and began carrying him away.

"Angela, go with them. The rest of us will be there soon." Jack ordered her, turning and lifting a hand to his comm, his men falling in around him. "Make sure the doctor stays with you." He ordered to the men; he had noticed the dazed look of the doctor and didn't need her left behind.

"Please hurry." She begged, before turning and stumbling after the stretcher, terrified of being left behind, terrified that if she let Gabriel out of her sight he'd bleed out. The men hustled her and the injured man away, while Jack sprinted in a different direction.

They loaded him into the helicopter, securing him to the ground towards the front. While they went about that, she checked on the other Commander in her care. His legs were bleeding very slowly; he'd survive as long as they left soon. She took back the healing stream, knowing she'd need it for Gabriel.

Angela dumped her pack to the ground next to him, finding her scalpel and tweezers. One of the shots had passed through, but the other three were still lodged somewhere inside him. They'd probably stopped at the bone, due to the awkward angle he'd been shot in. She set the healing stream as close as she could to the singular wound it was good for before cutting into his chest.

She probably _shouldn't_ be doing this, not with her head pounding and what was probably blood oozing in her hair, but her hands were steady and her vision was – currently – clear. He needed treatment now, so did Bianchi, but all they had was her.

* * *

Sometime later – she wasn't sure how long it was, she'd lost track of time while trying to find the damned bullets – those who were coming back loaded into the helicopter. They tried to make her move, to get her to fasten herself in, but she wasn't leaving Gabriel bleeding on the floor of this stupid helicopter. He'd taken bullets for her – the least she could do was keep working on him as much as possible.

"You won't be able to work on him while the helicopter moves." Ana reasoned. Angela sighed and quickly wrapped his chest back up, before allowing the older woman to pull her to sit in the seat nearest her patients. The woman sat right next to her, as if worried she'd try something foolish.

Angela's eyes slid over the rest of the helicopter with bleary eyes – when had it gotten so dim in here? While she'd been pulling a bullet out of her friend, it had filled up. There were two other gunshot wounds, a graze, as well as what looked like a broken arm. Still, they had less people on the helicopter with them – and Angela wasn't sure if they'd been left for dead or if they'd been purposefully left behind to let the wounded escape.

"I need to talk to Gloria, get her to prep the operating rooms." Angela told the woman at her side. Ana nodded in agreement, pushing a lock of hair behind one ear. Angela leaned her head back, then winced and jolted forward.

"Are you alright?" Ana asked, concerned, as Angela lifted her hands to assess the damage to her head – there was nothing else for her to do while the helicopter took off. Her fingers came back red and sticky. "What happened to you?"

"Ran into a wall." Angela replied, staring at her fingers for far too long before looking to Ana. "I don't have any bandages left." Ana clicked her tongue.

"We'll have to steal that technology of yours and patch you up." Ana told her, unclipping herself to grab it.

"Don't!" Angela begged, but Ana ignored her to grab the tool and slid back into her seat next to the doctor.

"He'll be fine, and _you_ need a clear head." Ana told her, looking down at the machine in her hands. "Now, show me how to use this."

Angela showed Ana the buttons and where to point it, then leaned forward to rest her elbows on her knees with her eyes closed. She winced as Ana moved her hair aside to get a look at the cut and bruising, but otherwise stayed still. Compared to everyone else, this was nothing – she should be using the healing stream on the others, not on a superficial cut like hers.

"You're all patched up," Ana said a few minutes later. Angela sat up, blinking and glancing around. The room looked a bit brighter, and she could focus her thoughts better. Apparently she'd had a mild concussion, which explained her woolgathering. She looked over to Gabriel guiltily; had she really been trying to get bullets out of him in her condition? She was a terrible doctor.

Still, she couldn't relax, no matter how guilty she felt. Ana put the healing stream in her hands and got up to get her a headset and Angela was up, looking Gabriel over, ensuring she hadn't done any lasting damage to his body. She slid the healing stream back in place before walking to look at the other injuries, bracing her hand on the rail so she didn't fall into someone's' lap.

One was in the arm and appeared to pass through cleanly, but the other had gone through the abdomen – and she'd already learned her lesson from Naples. They'd been haphazardly bandaged with whatever cloth they could find, but she'd need to get them better cared for shortly. She'd queried them for their blood types – one was A+ and one was O+. First, she had a call to make.

"This is Dr. Ziegler. I need Dr. Freeman, now." As soon as the line had been answered, Angela started giving orders. The man on the other side stammered something and set the phone down, searching for the required doctor, as Angela leaned her head back against the wall and closed her eyes to focus on the task at hand.

"Dr. Freeman speaking." A familiar voice filled the line.

"Gloria, prep OR 1 for a double amputee; I removed his legs in the field and he's lost a lot of blood. Stock it with O-, I have no idea what his blood type is. He is in critical condition, surname Bianchi. I will need metal transplants for his legs as soon as possible, so put an order in." Angela ordered, waiting patiently while the woman wrote it down. "OR 2 needs to be prepped for five gunshot wounds to the chest, blood type B+. He is also in critical condition, surname Reyes." Angela closed her eyes briefly against the statement as Gloria inhaled sharply, before glancing back over towards the other two.

"OR 3, gunshot wound to the abdomen, blood type O+. He is in urgent condition, surname Gonzales. OR 4, gunshot to the arm, blood type A+. He is stable, surname Lewis. I also have a graze and a broken arm for the infirmary to deal with." Angela rattled off her instructions. "We will be landing in approximately twenty minutes."

"We will be ready, doctor." The line went dead, and Angela pulled the headset away and handed it to Ana, sliding to the ground next to Gabriel to check his bandages.

* * *

As much as she ached to make Gabriel her priority, she forced herself to walk into OR 1 and leave him to Gloria. She knew that most of the work on Bianchi was done – they just needed to stitch up the mans' legs and then she could dash over to OR 2 – but that didn't make it chafe any less. Then she remembered they had the new-and-improved healing stream installed in the OR, allowing her to heal his wounds quickly under her critical eye. Once his vitals stabilized, with a steady blood flow in and no more blood flowing out, she left the OR team with strict instructions to put him under guard in private room one – and then to summon Commander Morrison to deal with him.

Gabriel's operation wasn't nearly as quick. He was still losing a lot of blood due to the gaping holes in his body. They wheeled him over to OR 1, which was the only room with the newest healing stream, and she focused the technology on the man on her table, before pausing. She had no idea how large the bullets that were embedded in him were; she wouldn't know if they were small enough to be pushed out until they came out. If they were too big, the newer tech would just leave them there and heal over them, leaving the metal to fester and cut.

If only she'd taken the time to grab a shell casing from where he was shot, or if she'd kept the bullet she'd managed to pull out on the helicopter instead of tossing it away to get lost. Still, there was no time for regretting her actions, and she shoved the stream away. She couldn't even focus it on the wounds that were without bullets; the tool would heal all wounds, rather than singular ones.

"We need to get the bullets out." She announced to the room, grabbing a scalpel and beginning her search, her operating team moving into action around her.

Before she'd managed to find the first bullet, he stopped breathing. CPR didn't work – all it did was cause him to bleed more – and they were forced to intubate him so that he could get much needed oxygen. Angela abandoned the search for bullets to Gloria, instead turning to figure out why he wasn't breathing. Sometimes it was from the trauma, but in other cases there was something wrong with the airway. In his case, his right lung had been punctured by a bullet that had entered through his side.

Almost two hours after they intubated Gabriel, and after a shock to the chest when his heart started beating out of control, they got him stable and turned the healing stream on him. It would be slow going, considering the sheer amount of trauma inflicted, and she couldn't interfere without making it worse. Instead, she directed the rest of her staff out – she could monitor it alone and call for anything she needed. No need for all of them to stand around doing nothing.

It was wrong of her to stay when there were patients to see, to fix, when someone else could monitor him just as easily, but she just could not force herself to let him out of her sight until the bloody holes were fixed. She was too frazzled to be of use elsewhere, and would be until he stopped bleeding from wounds meant for her.

She needed something to do with her hands, or she'd grab a needle and start suturing, so she grabbed a notepad and started writing. She wrote about the changes necessary to her technology – concerning bullets, focusing wounds, speed, anything that she thought could and should be changed. Every few minutes she'd look up and reassess Gabriel's broken body on the operating table, bathed in yellow light and sluggishly bleeding.

It took forty-five minutes – and every single one of them was agonizing. But once the wounds were healed, his blood pressure stabilized, and his breathing evened, she felt like she could function again. She ordered a nurse back into the OR, to put him into private room two under guard – and strict instruction that he wasn't to move until she got in there. His healed flesh would still be tender and he needed to rest while his body adjusted.

Then she moved Gonzales to OR 1. Her surgeons had done a great job in keeping him stable, and his wounds were healed by the technology in just under thirty minutes. The complexity of the injury – the intestine had been perforated – caused the nanobots to have to work on many more levels, to avoid sepsis and keep infection at bay while also healing the ravaged flesh, taking just as long as several bullets – but the sutures her staff had performed made it move that much faster.

Finally, she checked up on OR 4, but by the time she had reached them they had used the hand-held healing stream to patch him up. It was nearing ten in the evening – still early, considering the way she worked – but she felt absolutely drained. Still, she had to walk the infirmary, to make sure the other two were fine, to ensure everything was running smoothly. That was her duty.

Once she'd passed the reins over to Gloria – ostensibly so she could get some food and check on Bianchi and Gabriel – she headed for private room one. She'd make sure he was comfortable and properly guarded, then she'd look in on Gabriel.

The guards here gave her no trouble, unlike the ones in Naples; it was a fortunate perk for working in her home territory. The man was still unconscious, which was unsurprising. He'd probably sleep for several more hours – it was one of the side effects of her nanotechnology, but the perks were absolutely worth it. After assuring he was fine, she moved on to Gabriel's room.

She found Jack inside, and it was just like in Naples – only with the roles reversed. Fortunately, he didn't pull a gun on her, though it would have been fair, given that she'd shot at him first.

"Jack." She breathed, looking him over as he rose to greet her. "You're alright, aren't you? I didn't hurt you?" Now that she was able to _focus_ , now that she was looking at someone other than Gabriel, she felt the guilt flow over her. She could have hurt him – killed him. Jack gave her a wry grin.

"Angela, your aim is _terrible_. I'm fine." She huffed and crossed her arms, attempting to look displeased but nothing could mask the sheer relief in her eyes. He was _fine_.

"Excuse _me_ for worrying." She retorted, wanting to sound sarcastic but failing. Angela dropped her arms back to her side after a moment – even she could tell that she was doing a terrible job at acting. "I'm glad I didn't shoot you." Angela admitted.

"Well, so am I. Funny how that works." Jack replied, and she laughed. It was a short laugh, but it was needed after the day she had. They fell silent – the only sound in the room coming from the EKG machine – as she turned to look at the elephant in the room. Carefully, as if she might wake him, she approached his bed to check his chart.

"He'll be fine." She told him quietly, breaking the silence. "He'll be a little tired, and a little sore, but he'll be fine." Angela looked back towards the blonde commander. "You should get some rest, Jack. You look terrible." It was his turn to bark out a laugh.

"You're one to talk, Angela." He retorted. She smiled wryly back.

"Yes, but I'm used to it." She ushered him to the door. "With Bianchi out of commission, you're going to be a _very_ busy man. I'll watch over Gabriel." Angela opened the door, pointing towards the exit. "Go get some sleep, Commander." The title was more for the guards in the hall, but he raised an eyebrow at her. "We'll be _fine_. Look at all the bodyguards we have." She gestured at the hall, filled with four soldiers at attention. "The door locks, too, if that makes you feel any better."

Jack just sighed and rolled his eyes at the woman.

"You've made your point, doctor. I'll get some rest." She smiled up at him.

"Good. Sleep well. I'll give you an update in the morning." He nodded and made his way towards the elevators. She nodded respectfully towards the guards, before reentering her friends' room.

She sat in the seat closest to his bed, and reassured herself he was alive by watching him breathe.


	8. Clearance

**Clearance**

* * *

Let me _tell_ you, I'm pretty sure I rewrote 80% of this chapter at least three times before I was (mostly) satisfied. I know it won't be as good as darling Gabriel getting shot, but I hope you like it all the same!

Thank you so much to Aparies for your reviews; I always appreciate hearing from you! Please, please, let me know how much you liked or disliked this, and I'll see (type?) you all next time!

* * *

She wonders if it's fortune or bad luck that her dream isn't about surgery. It happens so rarely that she'd given up hoping for anything else. Something light, fun – innocent, even, compared to the nightmares she suffers – but rarely receiving any respite. But this time, she's outside. The wind is in her face and the sun is shining. Gabriel is in front of her, he's looking ahead at something she can't quite see. She leans around him, trying to see what's up ahead.

And then he gets shot. _No!_

Suddenly the air turns to molasses, and she's fighting, trying to get to his side. She has to put him back together, there's no one else, but she can't reach him. Why is she moving so slow, why is he bleeding out so quickly? _I need to save him!_ Just before his eyes turn glassy and his skin pales, the air turns to normal she can kneel next to him, hands useless in the face of so much blood.

"I can fix this," she hears herself saying, even in the face of his slowing heart, "stay with me, Gabriel. I can fix this!" But it's too late, his breaths stop, and he's gone. She's at his side, his body cooling under her fingers. Footsteps echo behind her and she grabs the gun. She turns, blindly pointing the gun, finger squeezing the trigger.

"No," she breathes, and time slows all over again. Jack falls to his knees, clutching his chest. He's reaching out to her in desperation, one hand extended and bloody, the other trying to stop the bleeding. She manages two steps before she's trapped standing between the two men – one dead, one dying. _I'm so sorry._ She's trying, but her legs won't move, her mouth won't work, and he's _begging_ her for help, but she watches him as he bleeds out in front of her. Her friends, bloody, broken, and _dead_ around her, and there is nothing she can do. _I did this. This is my fault._

Rewind, she's kneeling at Gabriel's side again. He's bleeding, but she's got the bandages, he'll make it. She just has to patch him up long enough to get him to the helicopter, to get to the OR, and she can fix this. He'll be fine. _I can fix this._ She stops the bleeding, the wounds are covered – it's not the best fix, but he'll make it. Then he starts bleeding again, where did that hole come from? She rushes to stop the bleeding, but as soon as it's stopped, a new hole appears. She's running out of bandages, but she can't stop – until his heart does.

She's standing behind him, she knows what's coming, tries to stop it, but he falls to his knees again, bleeding. _Not again_.

* * *

" _Angela_." A hand on her shoulder roughly jarred her awake.

Her eyes opened and she found herself slumped over in a chair, head pillowed in arms braced against something soft. Her face is wet, which is unsurprising. She didn't remember closing her eyes, but apparently she'd decided not to go back to her room last night, if the voice above her and the steady beep of an EKG machine were any indication. Angela went very still, closing her eyes again. They both know she had been having another nightmare, that the only reason he'd wake her was if she was actively in danger or crying out again – and there wasn't anything here that would endanger her.

"Gabriel?" She mumbles softly, disoriented, the dreams of his death too recent for her to handle. "This isn't a dream?" Her voice is small and broken, but she can't help the words before they escape her. She can't face another one, she can't sit up to find him bleeding again and be forced to put pieces that don't fit back together until he's dead.

"It's not a dream." He confirms, and she can feel him shifting, hesitating briefly, before a hand rests carefully on her head, stroking her hair once. "You're awake." She briefly considered keeping her head exactly where it was, but knew that was the wrong answer – she was an adult and, whether this was a dream or not, she would deal with it, just like she did every morning. This time, she just had to deal with it a little sooner – and with an audience.

Angela pushed herself up, surreptitiously wiping her eyes as she did, so she could look at Gabriel. He was in perfect health, exactly as he was when she fell asleep, and she sighed in relief after a long appraising look. She leaned back in her chair, suddenly self-conscious. She knew she must look a mess, with rumpled, blood-stained clothes and blood still in her sleep-tangled hair, and here she was disturbing his much-needed rest with her stupid nightmares.

"Sorry I woke you, Gabriel." She muttered, staring down at her hands guiltily.

"I'd say don't worry about it, but we both know you will." He told her kindly. It wasn't untrue – she worried about a lot of things – but it still made her frown a little all the same. "Want to talk about it?" He offered, like he always did – as if he _hadn't_ just gotten shot and he _wasn't_ laying in an infirmary bed, strapped to machines dedicated to make sure he was still among the living. She closed her eyes again, listening to the machine and his breathing again, letting it tether her to reality as she considered whether she wanted to talk or not.

"Angela?" He prompted after the silence became unbearable.

"I dreamed of you." She muttered, unthinking. The EKG betrayed Gabriel's shock, and then she turned scarlet, realizing what her words may have mistakenly implied. "I-I mean, not like _that_ , but, you," her tongue was tripping over itself as she tried to clear up any misunderstanding, "you were getting shot – and dying. _Again_." The words killed whatever humor – or embarrassment – may have been in the room.

"Like Jack?" He asked, his tone neutral. She knew what he was really asking – did she feel guilty that others died for him to live?

"No. Not like Jack." She whispered through numb lips. While she did feel guilt for those that were left behind, she knew that wasn't why he featured in her dreams, not really. "You nearly died on my table – _twice_." Her voice, her hands, her _everything_ , was trembling. "You were shot – you took bullets meant for _me_." That was the fuel behind the dreams; she'd never witnessed such violence – towards her or another – and it had shaken her to her core. She glanced towards him to find him watching her carefully. " _Why?_ " Her voice broke on the word. _He could have died_.

"If those bullets had hit you, you _would_ have died." He told her, after a long moment of silence. "You're, what, six – seven inches shorter than me?" She rolled her eyes at his use of American measurements, but got the idea. "He was aiming for your head, and you would have died." Her eyes widened – she hadn't even _realized_. He'd saved her from death, and she hadn't even realized how close it had been. "But, even if he'd been aiming for your leg, Angela," he continued, his voice low and eyes fierce, "I wouldn't have let him shoot you."

And she knew that, even as it made her heart pound and hurt at the same time. She knew that none of them – but most especially Gabriel – would ever let her get hurt, not if they could do anything about it. They would wrap her in cotton, keep her safe, and take _bullets_ if it meant she would be kept safe – because she was their precious doctor that should be kept secreted away in an infirmary or a lab. She loved them for their care and concern, even as she chafed under it, even as she hated being forced to continuously put them back together again.

"I know you wouldn't." She murmured quietly. "You're always looking out for me." Which was also true. He'd been the one that convinced her to give Overwatch a shot. He'd been the one to get the others to make sure she took care of herself, the one to offer her a safe place to vent if she ever needed one, the one to take an actual, _literal_ bullet for her.

"Somebody has to." He replied dryly, and she laughed despite herself.

"Why?" She asked carefully, once the remnants of her laughter faded. He looked over at her. "Not that I'm complaining – right _now_ , anyway – but why? And why _you_?"

"Because I can?" He offered, teasing. She just fixed him with a _look_ and he sighed. His face turned serious once more as he turned his gaze to the far wall.

"Because I wanted to." He finally said. "I have Jack, and Jack has Ana, and we _both_ know Ana doesn't need anyone at her back." He grinned at her. "But you? You were the new girl with the exceptional résumé and a dislike for violence. You'd already butted heads with Jack – so fierce and stubborn, the both of you – and you'd never even met Ana, but you needed someone, even if you didn't realize it." Gabriel shrugged. "So, I made that person me. And that's all there is to it."

Angela was pretty sure that _wasn't_ all there was to it, but at that moment the door behind her opened. She glanced behind her to find Jack and Ana entering the room.

"Hope we're not interrupting." Ana said blithely, pushing Jack into the room and closing the door. "We were coming to check on you, Gabe, and get a report from Angela. What a happy coincidence that you're both together." She continued cheerily – and despite the fact that they had just been talking, that there was _no reason_ to feel embarrassed, Ana's words made Angela blush. No one made any comment, and she collected herself to give a report of everything that had happened medically in the last twenty-four hours.

* * *

" _Wait_." Gabriel cut in, interrupting her. She glanced over to look at him with one eyebrow raised, but paused obligingly. "You had your tools in my body – in my _chest_ – while you had a _concussion_?" Well, when he put it that way, it _did_ sound rather careless, didn't it? Still, she waved a hand in the air.

"You're fine. All your bits are in the proper spots." Angela retorted. "I've pulled bullets out of you – out of the _three_ of you – enough times to do it blindfolded." Okay, so maybe that was a _slight_ exaggeration. "A concussion – and it wasn't even a _bad_ one, really – is nothing." As she finished, Ana grinned conspiratorially towards Jack, before glancing back over to Gabriel.

"Ana had to practically drag her away, concussion and all." The blonde commander told him, before laughing at the indignant, sputtering doctor. Angela huffed, knowing they were just teasing, and crossed her arms.

"She was _very_ protective of you, Gabe." Ana teased, and Angela's colored, not expecting Ana to join in. Before she could form a coherent sentence to defend herself, Gabriel spoke.

"Is that so?" Gabriel replied, raising one eyebrow at the woman. She groaned – she never knew that having friends could suck sometimes.

"You just got shot _for_ me. Excuse me for being _worried_." Angela shot back, finally finding her voice. She glared at all of them, though the effect was somewhat diminished by the redness of her face. "I'll remember this, all of you, next time you're bleeding out in front of me." She threatened, but all of them knew she didn't mean it.

After a few more light-hearted jabs, the three let Angela finish her report.

* * *

After her report, Angela examined Gabriel and discharged him before looking in on the Blackwatch Commander. She'd been warned before going in that he was a rather grumpy man – but she responded that it was probably just because he suddenly had no legs. After a rough encounter, with him complaining about anything and everything – his legs were gone, his side hurt, he was getting behind in his work – she left the infirmary for much needed food, but then she was back.

A week later, Bianchi's biotic legs were delivered to her infirmary. During that time, she kept the man comfortable and worked on her prototypes, needing them to be _perfect_ before she brought them to her friends' attention. She hadn't pursued their long-standing argument over her serving in the field – even _after_ actually going – because she needed them to be done first. She knew the others were waiting for her to pounce, because they knew that she wasn't one to let something drop – not that easily, anyway.

So, she took a break from the research to give the grumpy Commander his legs back. The procedure went smoothly, and it wasn't long before he was in his room again on medication to help his body adjust to the hardware that now made up his legs. He'd have to go through physical therapy and see a psychologist, but she had him slated for a full recovery.

Another week later saw the Commander out the door on his two new legs. He had been cleared to return to the Blackwatch base, but was ordered to continue his sessions with the therapist and psychologist there. It was around this same time that Angela asked to meet with her three friends; her prototypes were ready to be unveiled. She carried two items into the meeting with her – one was a specialized staff and the other was body armor, tailored to fit her.

"As the three of you know, I've been working on making the newest healing stream usable on the battlefield; the only active one is currently here in the Zürich base, due to financial strain." A memory of budget meetings from before Overwatch flashed through her mind. She rested a hand on the staff, which was sitting before her on the table. "I call this the Caduceus Staff." Angela rose, lifting it into her hands.

Angela was animated as she explained the pros and cons to her newest invention, and the others looked suitably impressed. She could tell that they were already planning for its use on the field. It had a limited lifetime before needing to recharge, and there was a range limiter of ten feet, but it would be a gamechanger for their wounded. Once they had exhausted their questions for the staff in her hands, Jack turned to look at the armor on the table.

"And what about that?" Angela nodded and set the staff down, lifting the armor instead for them to look at.

"I call this the Valkyrie Suit." She turned it slowly so they could view all sides – including the rather large wings on the back.

"What's with the wings, doc?" Gabriel asked, eyebrow raised.

"I'll get to those in a moment." Instead, she explained how the reinforced plating worked, protecting vital organs and the spine, as well as portions of the legs. She continued on to describe the nanotechnology within it, which, while it couldn't heal – not _yet_ , but she was hopeful for the future – would numb wounds so that a medic could continue their job if necessary.

"And the wings?" Gabriel prompted again, once she'd explained all the perks of the armor itself. "Are they just for show, or do they _do_ something?" She blushed; as if she'd include something so ostentatious for no reason!

"They allow the wearer to float in air using nanotechnology, as if they had a parachute – so if they have to drop long distances they can do so safely." She pulled gently on one of the wing tips to make it extend. "They can also be used to "jump" towards anyone with an Overwatch communicator – including agents above them." Angela slid her medical coat off and carefully pulled the armor on as she spoke.

"I assume you have your communicator, right, Gabriel?" She asked, turning to look at him as she secured the armor to her body before lifting a halo-shaped headpiece and fastening it into place.

"Wait, why do _I_ have to be the guinea pig?" He demanded, rising even as he complained. "Also, you look ridiculous. What's with the halo?" He grinned at her, moving away from the table and her. "Think you're some kind of angel?" He teased.

"Well, you _were_ the one with all the questions." She reached up to touch the halo self-consciously, but ignored the jabs. "Simply put, it determines which agent you want to fly to, then relays the direction to the wings, which then allows me to jump to you instead of Ana or Jack." She glanced between the three of them. "It's also used to initiate the jump, as well as floating safely – but to explain the process would take much more time than we have."

"Are you ready?" She shifted her weight, focusing on Gabriel – she had to demonstrate this well so that she could segue into getting herself back onto the battlefield.

"Whenever you are, doc." Gabriel told her, standing opposite her on the other side of the room. A moment passed before the suit propelled her forwards – with a little more force than necessary. She slammed into Gabriel with considerable force instead of stopping just before him, causing him to stagger back a step and wrap an arm around her to keep her steady.

" _Scheisse_ ," she muttered, "sorry, Gabriel. Looks like the acceleration needs tweaking still." She'd hoped for a more _graceful_ demonstration, but she'd have to take what she'd get. Carefully, Angela shifted backwards and out of Gabriel's personal space, and he released his steadying hold after a moment of resistance. "Thanks for catching me."

"Of course, Angela." She moved to the side before turning so that she wouldn't whack Gabriel with the wings.

"Aside from the acceleration being, well, _off_ , it's expected to allow a medic to jump to a person with ease, either to avoid danger or reach an injured agent." She walked back towards the table, Gabriel a step behind; she could jump again, but she didn't fancy slamming into anyone else today.

"These are the only two projects I have to show you, but you have to agree that they're impressive." Angela said, taking a seat without stripping off the armor, leaning forward slightly so the wings wouldn't catch on the back of the chair.

"You've done a good job, Angela." Ana praised, smiling at her from across the table. Angela smiled back, taking pride in her work – even as she dreaded the argument she knew would come next.

"However, there is one last thing." Angela told the three, glancing between them carefully. "I would like to request, once again, to be cleared for mission training."

"Angela, for the _last time_ , you are not going on missions." Jack told her thunderously, the mood changing immediately. She winced, but glared back just as fiercely.

"I helped extract Bianchi with no problem!" She shot back defiantly. She'd thought she had proved _something_ that day. All of their arguments had been unfounded – she'd kept up, she took care of the wounded while wounded _herself_ , and she'd even shot a gun in (unnecessary) self-defense.

"Do I need to remind you that I got shot for you on that mission?" Gabriel asked from her right, and she shook her head. He said that as if she'd shoved him before her, rather than him slamming her into a wall.

"I don't need _any_ reminding, thank you." She replied darkly, and he had the good sense to glance away sheepishly. "With training – that _all_ of you denied me – that situation might have been completely avoided!" She crossed her arms; she was getting cleared or she was getting fired, but she wasn't leaving this room until one or the other happened. "Besides, who _cares_ if I get shot – the three of you get shot all the time, and you _run_ this stupid organization!" Angela threw her hands up in exasperation.

"Angela, darling, we only want to keep you safe." Ana said gently, trying to bring the doctors' temper back down. "You've seen how it is, how things can change quickly. We don't want that for you." Angela nodded.

"That's why I've made the Valkyrie suit." She looked around at the three. "You all just agreed that it was a great idea, an amazing tool for the battlefield; I want to use it." She sucked in a breath. "I need to be out there, with the rest of you. I _need_ to help, so that we can keep our agents – or even innocents caught in the middle – from dying senselessly. _Please_. Let me at least go through training."

The three looked at each other, considering and weighing Angela's words.

"Training can't hurt." Ana said eventually. "We're _not_ agreeing to clear you for combat, but if another Bianchi situation happens again, it would be good for you to be trained." Angela nodded, a relieved smile crossing her face.

"I can work with that."

* * *

Training took more of her time, but she reorganized her schedule to make it work. She already had many of the skills necessary – managing infirmaries across the entire globe really taught prioritization under pressure, especially when she did as much as possible in person. Combat, however, was a completely different story.

She was an atrocious shot. Out of ten shots, she'd be lucky if two hit the target – and even then, she was likely to hit the edge rather than anywhere near the actual target zones. She was ordered to spend as much of her free time – like she _had_ free time – in the shooting range to increase her accuracy. Angela was put into combat simulation after combat simulation, with radio barking in her ear and fake wounds to treat, and there was always something she did wrong, always something to improve upon.

She buried herself in the training, determined to prove that she was worthy of going into the field with the others. Academics were something she had always thrived in – and while this was, admittedly, a different _kind_ of learning, academics were academics.

Two months passed, during which time her researchers finished their tasks. They had a portable healing stream with a limited life – but it would heal anyone within fifteen feet. They were relatively cost effective, so they began seeing active use, unlike tools like the Valkyrie suit – which she worked on whenever she had a moment – that were too expensive. Agent mortality was going down, and she couldn't be happier. She directed a team to work on increasing the effectiveness of their agents – boost their speed, their reflexes, their abilities – to make them better. Her second team she directed towards other combat medicine.

She could hit the target every time – though she was still just as likely to hit the edges than she was the center. But her medical skills more than made up for her lack of shooting ability, and when she trained with her Valkyrie suit she was unparalleled, no matter the situation.

Angela stood, hands on hips, in the command room before her three superiors.

"Well?" She demanded. They'd made her stick with it for three weeks longer than any other combat medic – she'd checked. While her fighting prowess wasn't up to par, she more than made up for it with the agility of the suit and her medical abilities. She wasn't going into the field to fight, anyway – the whole point was to heal, not damage. Angela kept her eyes on Jack – he was the one who would decide, regardless of what the others thought – even as she felt Gabriel's glare burning holes into her head.

"You're cleared, Angela." Jack said finally, sounding defeated. Angela relaxed, her hands dropping as she smiled, pleased to have _finally_ gotten through, _finally_ gotten their approval. "You will _only_ go on missions with one of us, do you understand? Your shooting is terrible, and I don't trust anyone else to keep you in one piece." Angela didn't care what stipulations he put on her, as long as he let her go with them to help people.

"As you say, Commander." Angela replied, saluting him with a grateful smile. He rolled his eyes and waved her off.

"Now that you're done _pestering_ us," Jack continued, and she blushed, "we have work to do; if you'll excuse us, Angela." The blonde doctor nodded and let herself out as they turned back to the table.

* * *

"I hope you're pleased with yourself." Angela hadn't turned when her office door had opened; exactly three people would enter without knocking – and she had a good idea who would be visiting today. Instead, she kept writing her lists, which helped her keep focused and properly channel her innovative genius. It would only be a matter of time before her teams needed new direction, and she had to be there to guide them.

"As punch, Gabriel." The doctor replied cheekily. When her words were greeted with a long silence, she sighed and spun her chair around to face him, pen in hand. As expected, he was glaring _again_. "If you're going to lecture me, you might as well have a seat." She offered, gesturing to the seat to his right. He huffed out a breath and sat.

"I don't want to lecture you, Angela." He told her tiredly. She smiled kindly at him.

"Then what _do_ you want, Gabriel?" She glanced up at the clock to see it was one forty in the morning. "Seeing how you aren't dragging me up to my room and it's nearly two, you must be here for _something_."

"Won't you reconsider fieldwork?" He asked softly. She knew that they all opposed her going out – Gabriel being the most vocal – but Jack was willing to uses his assets, and she was _definitely_ an asset. They wouldn't – couldn't – force her, but she was all too willing to jump into the fray with them.

"You know I can't." Angela told him gently. "I don't want to be protected; I want to save people, and that's what Overwatch does." So many agents, so many innocents, were left behind in the danger zones that terrorists like Talon and Null Sector created, and she – with her technology – might be able to make a difference in the field.

"You can't save everyone, Angela!" He snapped, leaning across the desk. "You're going into the field and you're _going_ to get hurt – and who will put _you_ back together?" He demanded, and under his fury she could see actual fear and worry. It was the same drive that had put him between her and a gunman, the same drive that was forcing her to go into the field.

"There are plenty of doctors, Gabriel." Angela reminded him. "Many of them were here long before I was." She'd only been here for, what, eight months? They were acting like she was the _only_ doctor – _only_ researcher – that Overwatch possessed. "I'm sure _one_ of them is up to the task of patching me up." She told him dryly.

"And if they can't put you back together?" He asked, and though his words were quiet the words rang in her ears as if he'd shouted. He was right, of course – she could get killed out there; heavens knew she'd read plenty of KIA reports, some belonging to medics. She _knew_ that, objectively. Angela shook her head; she couldn't think about it, couldn't consider that she was rushing to her death.

"I am taking every precaution, Gabriel." Angela said firmly, skirting the question. "Just like you." Angela fixed him with a pointed look. "Or would you rather I ask _you_ to remain behind, for fear that you won't come home?" His fists clenched.

"It's different, Angela." She made a harsh, disbelieving sound.

"How is it possibly different? Because I am _so_ fragile compared to you? A woman?" Her arms were crossed and her eyes were glaring daggers, and he sighed and ran a hand over his head, glancing away.

"That's _not_ what I meant, and you know it." He retorted, but there was less heat. "I've been doing this a long time – _too_ long. I'm a soldier. I know when to push forward and fall back. But you," he met her scathing look, "you're a doctor, a healer. You won't fall back, not if there's wounded that you _might_ be able to save. And I might not be there next time to save you." His words, his eyes, were bleak.

Angela worried her lip. He wasn't wrong, not really. If it hadn't been for his hand on her elbow, she would have stopped many times on the Bianchi extraction. If it hadn't been for the concussion, she'd have fought harder to collect more wounded instead of fixating on the ones in her care. It was one thing to be part of training simulations, where the wounds weren't real and everyone went to their beds at the end of the day, and another thing to be on a mission where her choices could mean actual life and death – for not only her patients but those around her, and even herself.

That didn't mean that she'd stay behind though.

"I will go where I am needed." Angela told him firmly. "It is my duty." Gabriel laughed, a mirthless sound.

"Plenty of soldiers with _duty_ died in the Omnic Crisis, Angela." He was on his feet, as if he couldn't deliver the words sitting down. " _Duty_ won't save you. Duty will get you _killed!_ " He pointed at her from across the desk, emphasizing his point. "You _will_ get hurt, Angela, if you do this." His eyes, stormy with emotion, were a stark contrast to his harsh words. " _Please_ don't do this."

"I cannot hide, Gabriel – no more than you can." There was nothing else for her to say. She would go, and no amount of begging would stop her. Her words seemed to take the fight out of him, and he slumped back into the chair he'd recently vacated, one hand covering his face. The silence grew, strained and thick, but she didn't know how to break it; she couldn't give him what he wanted, so instead she sat, waiting for him to break first.

"All that will come of this, Angela," his voice was quiet, muffled, "is heartbreak and nightmares."

"I know, Gabriel." And she did. But her life was already heartbreak and nightmares. Every time she had to read a KIA report, every time a patient bled out under her hands, she felt that pain. A battlefield would be no different. At least she could feel like she was trying, making a difference. It might ease the nightmares – but she doubted it.

"Will you walk me back?" She asked when the silence grew to be too much. It was her best attempt at a peace offering, though even she knew it wasn't a good one. He nodded and rose, with her quickly following suit, and they left the small office filled with too much emotion.

"Everything will be alright." Angela murmured as the doors slid open, allowing them entry. It wasn't until the car was moving, with her in her usual spot with her back against the right wall and him with his shoulder to the left, that he spoke.

"If you're serious about this," he began.

"I _am_." She insisted, and he silenced her with a look.

"If you're serious about this," he repeated, "will you at least let me watch your back?" Angela blinked, startled, and then smiled tentatively.

"I can't think of anyone else for the job." She whispered into the silence. She had just assumed he would be there, and the thought that – if he hadn't asked – he might have stayed behind was disconcerting.

"Not even Jack?" He challenged, the words heavy.

"Jack didn't take a bullet for me." She retorted, arms crossed. "But even then – no, not even Jack."

"What about Ana?" The words were teasing now, and she considered the sharpshooter.

"Well, she _is_ a better shot that you." She decided as the doors reopened. "But no." Angela stepped out, glancing over one shoulder at the man. "If I had to pick someone to watch out for me, I'd pick you."


	9. Orders

**Orders**

* * *

Thanks to Gaeriel69 for your review, as well as my 12 followers and the 9 who favorited me.

I hope you all enjoy this chapter, as always! I'd greatly appreciate any feedback you want to give!

* * *

It had been nearly three months, and the only time she had left was to give the Blackwatch Commander a checkup. While it hadn't _quite_ been a promise, she had told Gabriel that she would have him at her back when she went into the field and she meant to stand by that. He'd only gone out once in that time – but it was for a near month-long mission, and she couldn't afford to be gone for such a long period of time. Then again, it wasn't that unsurprising, seeing how he was a Commander and couldn't be expected to go on most missions.

Instead, she'd dedicated her time to her research. She was working on expanding on biotic limbs, specifically how much of a body could be replaced. It was all theoretical for now – partially because she didn't want to bring it to the others without a solid plan and partially because she was _not_ looking forward to what would be needed to test it.

When she wasn't researching, she forced herself to practice in the gun range.

Angela stood in the range, pistol in hand and a pair of protective earmuffs. Before her was a target with the silhouette of a man, marked with target zones. She pointed the gun towards the upper left quadrant – the heart – released a breath, then squeezed the trigger.

A hole appeared in the target, significantly lower, but still within the silhouette – but nowhere near where a heart would be.

Angela blew out a breath. She knew she should spend more time here, but with duties assigned elsewhere it just never seemed to be that important – and then she was terribly disappointed in her ability when she finally found the time to practice. It made no sense for her to be disappointed, because even she knew that for any skill you needed to practice – often and regularly. Still, her lack of progress was disheartening.

She pointed the gun again. Fired. Another bullet too low, but it was still within the target. Fired. Too low, and now too far to the left.

A hand on her shoulder startled her, and she jumped, whirling. A second hand grabbed her gun hand, pushing both down and away before she hurt herself – or the woman at her shoulder. Once she relaxed, Ana let go of both, and Angela set the gun on the table set between her and the target before sliding off the earmuffs.

"Ana! What are you doing here?" She asked. With Jack out on a mission, she'd expected Ana to practically live in the command room until his return.

"A little birdie told me you were down here. I thought I'd see how you were doing." Ana glanced between the blonde doctor and the target appraisingly. "Not doing so good?" Angela shook her head.

"You know I'm not." All three of her friends were kept apprised of her combat and survival skills, because they were the ones sending her into combat. Ana nodded.

"You're right; I know." Ana hit a button on the table, swapping the target for a new one, before gesturing to the gun. "Reload it." Angela turned obediently back to the gun, sliding her earmuffs up and pulling the weapon into her hands and refilling the ammunition. "Aim for the head." Angela pulled the gun up, pointing it at the target. "Fire."

They went through ten shots, all of them missing the marks Ana described.

"You're hesitating." Ana told her, once the gun was on the table. "At least, that's your biggest problem." Ana grabbed the gun, pointing it in demonstration. "Your arms relax and your aim drops." The barrel of the gun dipped dramatically in her hands. "Point and keep your hands still – you're a doctor, so we both know you are capable." Angela nodded, reaching for the gun to reload it again.

She was in the range for another hour with Ana before she called it quits. Her aim wasn't amazing – she'd never have enough time to dedicate for that – but it was markedly better than before, and she only needed to be capable of stopping an enemy, not killing them. A bullet, generally anywhere, would make certain of that.

"Good work, Angela." Ana told her, clapping her on the shoulder once more. The doctor smiled at the older woman in thanks. "We'll make a marksman out of you yet." Angela laughed.

"I certainly hope not." She admitted. Ana draped one arm over her shoulders as they walked out.

"You haven't signed up for any missions." The woman said as they moved down the hall together, heading towards the basement level that the doctor practically lived on. "After all your fighting and training, too." The older woman glanced over at Angela's face, one eyebrow raised. "I wonder why that is."

"I've been busy lately." Angela demurred carefully. While what she'd promised to Gabriel wasn't a secret – not really – she found herself loathe to talk about it with the other two. At best she would be at the mercy of endless teasing and at worst they would read deeper into the promise than necessary.

"I should be available for one soon, though. I'm just tying up a few loose ends." A statement that was a bold-faced lie. Seeing how none of her researchers were working with her _and_ Angela had been keeping her notes in German – a language she was pretty confident none of the others could speak – Ana would never know, and what Ana didn't know wouldn't hurt her.

"Is that so?" Ana asked, nodding. "That's good. I'll make sure that we keep you in mind, then." Angela smiled over at the woman.

"I'd appreciate that, Ana." She was forced to say, even as she knew that there was a decent chance she'd still be remaining home.

* * *

"Can I ask you a question?" She asked when Gabriel strolled into her office around dinnertime.

"Yeah, what's up?" He said, standing in the doorway and waiting while she dutifully put aside her pen and paper. She leaned back in her chair to look up at him, making no move to rise. After a moment, he stepped in and closed the door, leaning his back against it.

"Are you purposefully avoiding going on missions?" Angela demanded; he looked surprised at her question and made no indication that he was planning to answer. "It's been _three months_ since I managed to convince the three of you to let me on missions, since I _promised_ to stay in Zürich if you weren't on the mission with me" Her arms crossed as she glared pointedly at him. "Either you're avoiding missions or it's something else." She raised an eyebrow instead of asking a second time.

"I'm not _avoiding_ missions, Angela." He told her, sighing. "I haven't been needed on any missions, so I've been here" He gave her a look in return. "What's the big deal, anyway? It's not like you aren't busy here."

"I saw Ana today, and she was _curious_ as to why I had abstained from missions, seeing how hard I fought to get approved for them. I wouldn't put it past you to avoid missions just to keep me safe." He laughed ruefully.

"I _had_ considered doing just that." If looks could kill, he'd probably be dead. "But I can't afford to sit on the sidelines, so no chance there." He shook his head and met her glare unapologetically. "You'll have your chance, Angela, whether I like it or not." She sighed – she was a doctor; she _exuded_ patience, but three months was a rather long time to wait.

"Alright, Gabriel. I believe you." She said after a long moment, rising. He shifted, moving away from the door so they could leave.

"So, you saw Ana today?" He asked conversationally, leading her towards the elevator so they could go eat.

"I was practicing in the range." She admitted. "She gave me a couple of pointers." She glanced towards him mischievously. "They helped better than yours did."

"Just because you're a _terrible_ student doesn't mean that my advice wasn't good." He teased her, pressing the call elevator button. She gaped at him, before huffing.

"I have it on _excellent_ authority that I'm a great student." Angela told him primly. "You're just an awful teacher."

"I'll have you know that I've trained plenty of agents." He informed her as the doors opened.

"It's a wonder that I haven't needed to patch more of them up, then." She replied, and then laughed at the indignant look on his face.

* * *

Gabriel finally accepted another mission two weeks later. They were heading to Venezuela; a factory had been captured by Talon. While it wasn't an Overwatch facility, it was a major biotic limb manufacturer in South America. It wasn't a large strike team – just her, Gabriel, and four others – but the estimated force occupying the facility didn't rate a larger team.

The flight was going to be a long one – unsurprising, considering the distance to South America from Switzerland – so it was unfortunate that she couldn't bring any of her research along with her, just in case it was lost and fell into the wrong hands. Instead, she was forced to bring along a book – or be bored for the entire flight.

She'd boarded, the Valkyrie suit carefully packed away – she wasn't going to wear it for the thirteen and a half hours it would take for them to get there, though she would have to change before they arrived. She was still dressed the part of a combat medic just in case, with all the tools necessary – including her pistol – attached to the belt she wasn't currently wearing. She had been one of the last to arrive – there were last minute instructions to give to Gloria and her research teams – but they should be leaving shortly. They were just waiting on Gabriel to arrive.

"Move over." Angela glanced up from what she was reading to see Gabriel standing in the aisle next to her. She glanced around the plane – certainly it wasn't terribly large, but there was plenty of space that wouldn't require her to move. Still, she obliged him and shifted seats so he could have the one she vacated.

"Ready?" He asked her as the plane began preparations for takeoff.

"If I didn't have everything I needed, do you think I'd have gotten on the plane?" She asked, willfully misunderstanding his question. He shot her an exasperated look.

"I meant for your first mission." She raised an eyebrow. "First _sanctioned_ mission." He amended.

"Of course I'm ready." Angela replied easily. "It's not going to be anything like my _actual_ first mission, so I'm sure I'll do fine."

"Don't get too cocky." He warned. "There's every chance that this mission goes south." He leaned back in his seat. "Don't forget about Naples – and what brought them to your infirmary." She bit her lip to keep from retorting, because the advice _was_ sound.

"I'll be careful." She murmured.

"You're damn right you will be." He retorted, and she glanced sidelong at him before looking back down at the journal she'd been reading.

"What are you reading?" He asked, interrupting her a few minutes later once the plane leveled out. She closed her eyes momentarily with a sigh – she wasn't going to get anything done – and glanced back up at him.

"A medical journal. It has several articles and case reports on the use of biotic limbs that I'm interested in." She had high hopes for this particular journal; she was hoping that it would have information that would greatly improve her own research.

"Seriously?" His voice was teasing, and she rolled her eyes.

"Yes, _seriously_. I couldn't bring my research notes along – understandably – so I brought study material. It's for my research." She gave him another _look_. "You know, that other thing I do that _isn't_ fixing you up."

"I'm vaguely familiar with the concept, yes," Gabriel replied, "seeing how I drag you away from it most nights." She smothered a laugh, but turned back to her journal; this time, he let her.

Many hours later, she was still engrossed in her journal. The flight had been rather uneventful – the other soldiers had kept mostly to themselves two rows back, and Gabriel had been reading… something. Angela hadn't asked what. Gabriel nudged her gently, and she glanced up briefly.

"You need to get some sleep." He whispered. She hadn't realized that it had gotten quiet – or darker – within the plane. The others were probably asleep – like she would be, were she actually one for keeping normal sleeping patterns.

"I can't." She whispered back, turning to the next page idly.

"What do you mean, you _can't_? You need to be rested, so you _have_ to." He snapped back at her. She glanced up at him, meeting his intensity with anxiety.

"There's too many people; I don't need _everyone_ knowing I have nightmares – and what comes after." She whispered back, her words barely loud enough to reach his ears, even close as he was. His eyes widen and his face gentles.

Angela couldn't afford for anyone to catch her so vulnerable, couldn't risk losing the respect she had gained. She's _Dr. Ziegler_ , cool and collected and _absolutely_ in charge, because at the end of the day it's her calls that will result in life and death, and she can't have anyone doubt her for even a _single_ second. They can't think that she has a heart, that she cares absolutely _too much_ , that every death – under her hands or halfway across the globe – cuts another piece of her soul away.

And, seeing how she was going on her _first_ actual, sanctioned mission – which absolutely _terrified_ her even as she needed to go – she knew that there would be nightmares. She would dream about Gabriel getting shot again – that was what she was going into, after all, shooting and _death_ – and shooting Jack and watching Huang die because the mission had gone sour.

"I'll be right here, Angela." Gabriel whispered back. "I'll wake you up, first sign of a nightmare." She shook her head.

"You need to sleep too – almost more than I do. You're the _Commander_ , you're in charge of this merry little expedition. You have to be well rested." She insisted, turning his own logic against him.

"Seeing how it's _your_ job to keep us alive, you take precedence. Go to sleep. I'll wake you if I get tired, alright?" She sighed. It wasn't alright, but she knew he was right; she needed to sleep, because they'd probably be running straight into combat once they landed. She couldn't afford an error due to exhaustion, not when it was something so easily remedied.

"You promise you'll wake me?" Angela asked, even as she started to put the journal away.

"Of course I will." He assured her, and she nodded, leaning back into her seat that wasn't really comfortable and didn't give, not even a _little_ , to close her eyes. She felt his eyes on her, and she fought not to squirm or peek; instead, she forced herself to blank her mind so that she could _attempt_ to sleep.

* * *

"Wake up, Angela." His voice, which rumbled strangely in her ear, was accompanied by a sharp shake of her knee. Her eyes blinked open, confused momentarily at where she was. There was a loud humming noise and she was pressed against something warm and soft. She blinked, before registering who had spoken.

"Gabriel?" She murmured sleepily, blinking slowly, remembering that she was on a plane, that there were others around them, that he'd _promised_ to wake her up – and here she was, waking up. Still, that didn't explain what she was leaned against. Carefully, she turned her head, to find that she'd practically buried herself against his side. Flushing a deep scarlet, she pulled away sharply – displacing the arm that had been carefully placed over her shoulders. "What-?" the word escaped her, much too loudly for the confined space.

"Christ, Angela, you're fine; calm down before you wake the whole damn plane." Gabriel said quickly, glancing away before she could tell if he was _also_ blushing, putting up a hand before she could lay into him. "You fell asleep, and then decided I made a good pillow." He shrugged sheepishly. "'I didn't want to wake you, so I left you alone." He hesitated briefly before continuing. "Okay, I _did_ move my arm, but only because you were putting it to sleep."

"You should have woken me." She insisted, terribly embarrassed.

"And wake you when you were _actually_ sleeping for once? Never." His voice was teasing, but when she glanced towards him she saw that he was still sheepishly looking anywhere but at her. "Besides, you were _asleep_ , Angela. It's fine." He glanced over at her momentarily, before yawning.

"I woke you because I need to sleep; far as I can tell you didn't have a nightmare." He told her, and she nodded gratefully. Her anxiety about the others around her may have suppressed the nightmares – for now – but she doubted it would last.

"Go to sleep, Gabriel." She whispered, and he closed his eyes and leaned his head back against the seat. "I'll wake you if anything exciting happens."

Angela leaned down to grab the journal, but found the she couldn't concentrate; instead, she found herself watching the man sleeping next to her.

* * *

They had managed to get inside the factory, but they were under fire. Their team had been separated – and not by choice; Gabriel had strictly ordered them to stay together, but it just wasn't possible when you considered the lack of cover in the face of enemy guns. Angela was currently crouched inside a doorway behind one of their agents – she wasn't certain, but his name _might_ be Ramirez – while he was firing at the enemy on the catwalk above them. _Most_ of the enemy was above them, which made the lack of cover that much worse.

"Medic! Lewis is down!" The call came over the comms unit. Angela glanced out of her position, only to jerk back to avoid getting shot. Her hand reached up.

"What's your location?" She demanded, glancing up at the man shooting in front of her. His eyes were focused above – there was still an enemy up there, it seemed.

"He's under the conveyor belts on the left side." Angela bit her lip, thinking; she was holed up in this room that – she glanced around, ignoring the handful of workers cowering at the back of the room – was a death trap without any secondary exit, and she needed to get across the entire floor to reach him.

"We're under fire on the right side, shooter above." She reported, glancing out again when the gunfire ceased for a moment. If she could spot another agent she could fly out, but it would cause her to abandon the man she was currently paired with – not that she was doing him any good, but it would definitely make her feel terrible. "Can anyone clear a path?"

"Ramirez and I will create a distraction, doctor." Gabriel's voice responded. She glanced over at the man covering her again; guess his name wasn't Ramirez. "You two get out as soon as their attention shifts; it won't last long."

"Roger, Commander." Both she and the now-unnamed man at her right responded.

"We're going to make a break for that machine there," her current guardian told her, pointing. Angela glanced back at the people in the room.

"Stay back, and get the door shut when we're gone." Angela ordered them; with the gunmen above them and injured across the room, there wasn't much they could do for them at this point. If they stayed back, they shouldn't get injured or recaptured.

Gunfire lit up the main room. "Go!" The two of them sprinted for their target, eyes peeled for a shooter that might have them in their sights. To their right – and above, always above it seemed – Angela spotted an enemy agent raise their gun.

"Get down!" She shoved the man forward with one hand before throwing herself to the side, bullets filling the space they'd just occupied. Her heart was hammering – that was nearly the two of them, she was _not_ cut out for this – but she got back on her feet and got behind the machine that had been their target. Moments later her partner was at her side again, clutching his gun.

From this position she could see Gabriel and what could only be Ramirez – how did she mistake the two men, they looked _nothing_ alike – ducking into cover. At the far side, where the injured Lewis was, she saw movement – probably, _hopefully_ , one of their own protecting him.

"I'm going to change positions," she quietly told the man hiding with her. "Watch out for yourself, alright?" He looked at her quizzically – _all_ of the agents on this mission knew she was barely capable of protecting herself – but before he could speak, her hand was on her comm unit. "Commander, I need a clear visual on your position."

"Give me a sec, doc; I'm a _little_ busy." His reply came in a few moments later. At her side, the man shot up at the enemy – a pained cry indicated that some of his bullets hit their mark. There shouldn't be _too_ many more left, but until they were certain it was safe – for them and the remaining hostages that were upstairs.

Most of the hostages had been recovered, funneling out through side rooms that they had cleared – but there were still many in the building. Some had been recovered but were still forced to remain inside due to the violence – like the ones in the room she'd just recently vacated with her partner – but there were still many upstairs with the Talon operatives. It was only a matter of time before the enemy dragged them out – as shields or for ransom.

"Now, doc!" Staff in hand, Angela focused her gaze on the man who had rose from cover for a brief moment, pushing the gear to jump to his position. She burst out of cover, the gear dragging her along an invisible tether towards him. She was forced to stop a little more than halfway – he had to duck into cover, which forced the tether to drag her into some workstations before she canceled it. Angela crouched behind the workstation as bullets buried themselves in it. They'd spotted her – not surprising, seeing how big of a target the movement made her.

As soon as Angela spotted Gabriel, she jumped out of her position to rush to his, regardless of the bullets still sporadically firing towards her; for her trouble, a bullet buried itself into the back of the suit she was wearing – it didn't pierce the suit, fortunately, but it still would leave a sizeable bruise. She let the momentum drag her into a slide on the ground, shielding herself from the bullets that were still peppering his – and Ramirez's – position.

"Damn it, Ziegler." Gabriel snarled at her as she crouched behind the two men. "Don't be so damn reckless." He looked her over, but he saw that she wasn't bleeding; she realized he must have seen the shooter aiming at her and made sure he didn't see the bullet still lodged in the suit. She made a sound of affirmation without _actually_ agreeing; like he said months ago, she'd take risks to help the wounded that he wouldn't.

"What's the name of the guy with Lewis?" She asked as they sat hidden on the killing floor. Gabriel glared at her – he _knew_ what she was planning to do, and he could stop her, but they both knew he wouldn't, not when the danger was outweighed by the aid she could provide.

"That's Cooper; you left Robinson." Ah, both of their names started with R – not that it was any excuse for her to have mistaken them. Angela nodded at the information, and Gabriel peered out in their direction.

"Update on Lewis' condition?" Angela whispered into the comm.

"I'm bleeding pretty bad, doc." A new voice – presumably Lewis – cut in. "Cooper's covering me."

"Cooper, I need a visual on you now; I'm with the Commander and Ramirez." Angela ordered, looking in the vague direction that she knew they were in, watching for movement that signified the man she needed to reach.

"We're on the left side, ma'am." He reported, and she rolled her eyes.

"I need a _visual_ – with my eyes." She clarified, as if the word "visual" wasn't obvious enough. She kept her eyes focused away from the two men that were whispering plans at her side. The gunfire had slowed, which led Angela to assume they were waiting for a better target, they were regrouping for a better attack, or they were getting the hostages out.

None of those options were good for them, but they couldn't dwell on it.

"Cover me, Commander." She interrupted, when she spotted agent Cooper. Before he could say anything, she'd darted to the side – for a better, more clear path – and started her jump.

It was impossible to move evasively when you were being dragged in a straight line, and since the enemy had learned of her ability with the last two jumps, it was unsurprising when she came under fire shortly after erupting from her cover. She glanced around sharply, looking for the person shooting at her, even as she heard suppressive fire coming from Gabriel's position.

She landed on her feet just before Cooper, who was watching her wide-eyed, and she shoved them back under cover as bullets followed her. Though the trip had felt like it had taken hours – she supposed that being shot at might skew ones' sense of time – it was only a minute or two since she had left Robinson.

"Where is he?" She asked; there were plenty of conveyor belts around them. Cooper pointed, and she quickly darted towards his position, trying to avoid getting shot. She crawled under the conveyor belt with him, stomach flat to the floor to accommodate the wings – there wasn't a lot of space here for her to work with – and examined his wound.

He'd been shot in the leg, and judging by the holes in both sides it had passed through cleanly – which made her job that much easier. Quickly – and awkwardly – she pointed the staff at his body and press the trigger. The area around them lit up slightly with yellow, and Angela briefly hoped it wouldn't make them a bigger target, and the flesh began to knit together quickly. Not even ten minutes later his leg was patched up.

"Stay under cover – you can't afford to lose much more blood." She ordered the man, who nodded, before carefully wiggling back out from under the belt. Once she was out – and under proper cover – she glanced around, trying to take stock.

She spotted Gabriel and Ramirez making their way up the steps, towards where Talon had holed up. The enemy had seemed to pull back, so it seemed that Gabriel had decided to take the fight to them She spotted Robinson moving alone, getting the hostages they'd been trapped with out of the building during the lull in fighting. Cooper appeared at her shoulder.

"Commander wants the three of us to take the stairs," he pointed towards the ones in question, since there were three different sets, "and meet up with him." Angela nodded, gesturing for the men to lead. She wasn't a fighter and would be worthless leading the way.

It didn't take them long to reach the top of the stairs, which – aside from the Overwatch agents – was empty except for two dead bodies. There was one room between them and the other two; Cooper ducked inside to check it briefly before backing out, declaring it cleared. Lewis took point and Angela fell in behind Cooper, the three of them carefully approaching the other two. There was one last door, which they assumed the enemy was hidden behind.

"Ziegler, you stay back. There should only be two left – a quick fight; we just have to find them." Angela nodded, keeping herself to the back of the group. "Cooper, Lewis, you'll go right; Ramirez and I will go left." The orders were hushed, so close to the door that held their enemies. "Avoid hitting the civilians, got it?"

Then they were bursting through the door that was, surprisingly, not barricaded. Angela stayed outside the room shoulder pressed against one wall as she – extremely cautiously – peeked around to peer inside. She saw civilians – several of them, pressed against the back of the room – but there was no gunfire, no fighting.

"What's goi-" She began, when a footstep behind her had her turning, hand reaching for the pistol that was at her side. Her eyes registered two enemies as they pulled their triggers. There was nowhere for her to go but down – so she made a rush for the banister. If she could make it over she could drop down safely with her suit.

She didn't even make it one step before they mowed her down. Her Valkyrie suit caught some of them – fulfilling its purpose – but at such close range it was nearly useless. She felt blood soak the front of her suit as she collapsed to her knees. However, even after being breached, her Valkyrie suit did its job. Except for the sharp, piercing pain of the bullets entering her, the suit managed to numb it to an acceptable level.

She lifted her hands, feeling like she was moving through wet sand – god it was like her nightmares – as she tried to press them to her wounds, to stop the bleeding. Her chest, once Overwatch blue, was now darkening with her blood. From this angle, she couldn't tell how many times she was hit – how bad it was – but she knew that she needed surgery.

"Angela!" It could have been seconds or hours, but suddenly Gabriel was in her face. She hadn't even heard the firefight around her, but he wouldn't have put his guns down if it wasn't safe so the enemy _had_ to be dead. She smiled blearily at the man at the man, knowing that the expression was wrong for the situation but incapable of anything else. She'd never seen him look so frantic – not even when he'd _begged_ her not to go into the field. Served her right for not listening.

"Did they pass through?" Angela asked him. He looked at her, confusion plain on his face. "The bullets, Gabriel." She was past the point of decorum, of calling him his title, and seeing how she was filled with bullets she doubted he cared too much either. Gabriel shifted to look her over for exit wounds, before shaking his head.

"Pretty sure they're still in there." He told her gruffly, and she sighed. All that meant was that she couldn't use her staff, which would solve all her problems.

"How're the others?" She asked suddenly, as if she wasn't slowly dying before him.

"They're fine, we're all fine. Transport should be here soon, and we'll get you a doctor." Angela nodded, trying to ignore the sudden vertigo that the movement caused. "Where are your bandages?" He asked, bringing her attention back to the wounds in her chest. She needed to carry some, because the staff wouldn't work on all wounds – like the ones she had.

"My satchel." He reached over and grabbed the bag at her hip. "You need to take the suit off." She told him, licking her lips. She knew that once it came off, she'd feel every bit of the pain that was being suppressed. "Wrap the wounds tightly, pressure is important." She ordered him. Hopefully, if he wrapped it too tightly, they'd get her to a doctor before any permanent damage was done – but she'd rather it be too tight than not tight enough.

"How do I take this damn thing off you?" He demanded, looking over the Valkyrie suit. She knew that, if necessary, he'd tear the thing to pieces to get it off her. Quickly, she instructed him through the straps and fasteners to take it off her.

Once it was disengaged, she gasped sharply against the incredible pain that rolled over her. Her eyes dropped down to her chest, and she saw three entry holes scattered across her body. Suddenly, she couldn't control her breathing – this was happening to _her_ , she was shot, she was bleeding out, and _she_ was the medic with no one to care for _her_. Gabriel was right, she was going to die and it was all because of her stubbornness and pride.

"You're going to be fine." Gabriel murmured, trying to comfort her – but his words were nothing against the weight of her panic. "Angela, calm down. _Breathe_." He gave her a sharp shake – one that, as a medical professional, she'd never recommend – that jarred her and she took a sharp, deep breath. "Stay with me, Angela." He ordered. Angela nodded shakily.

Angela shut her eyes and focused on breathing. She felt Gabriel moving against her, pulling the bandages across her chest tightly to stem the bleeding.

It was an agony that seemed to last an eternity, made worse by Gabriel's bandaging skills. Finally he finished, tying them off so they'd stay on her body. She looked down again, seeing the bandages already staining red due to the unrestrained bleeding, and shuddered.

"You're going to be fine." Gabriel insisted a second time.

"Commander, helicopter's here." Cooper's voice suddenly sparked to life in her ear, startling her. She'd forgotten about the others.

"Roger. One of you come get the doctor's gear." Gabriel lifted Angela up into his arms, causing her to cry out with pain. "I know, I know. I've got you." He murmured soothingly, but he didn't pause, carrying her away from the bloody scene. She bit her lip, trying to ignore the pain each step sent arcing through her, and buried her face in his chest as tears streaked her cheeks.

Gabriel briefly passed her to another – she wasn't sure who – so he could climb into the helicopter. She was handed back over, and then he was sitting carefully with her nestled in his lap. As soon they brought her gear, specifically her staff, to the helicopter, they headed for Watchpoint: Santa Marta in Colombia.

"Just hold on a little longer for me, Angela." Gabriel murmured, bringing his lips close to her ear so she could hear him over the engine. It was only then, as they were in the air heading for her salvation, that she passed out.


	10. Unknown

**Unknown**

* * *

I did another thing. I hope you enjoy it as much as I absolutely enjoyed writing it.

Thanks to everyone who reviewed, you know who you are. Also, _huge_ thanks to Gaeriel69, who is translating my story to French for other viewers to enjoy!

* * *

She opened her eyes, once again confused as to where she was. The beeping of an EKG machine met her ears, and she wondered vaguely why she fell asleep in a patients' room – though she didn't remember doing any operations recently.

Then she remembered that _she_ was the patient.

She glanced around, taking in the unfamiliar room; she must be in Santa Marta. Unlike her patient rooms, this one had windows; apparently it was either really early or really late, since it was dark outside. Continuing to the other direction, she found Gabriel in the chair nearest her bed, eyes closed and arms crossed. She was unsurprised to find him there, considering how he'd told her he'd be watching her back – and then carried her away with bullet wounds.

Not that she blamed him. They couldn't have known that they were lying in wait in a different room – the room that, admittedly, Cooper cleared _terribly_ – to sneak up on them. It had been the best call to make, even if it had ended in her injury.

Speaking of injury, she looked down towards her chest. There were bandages, so she was fairly certain that she had stitches, rather than being healed – which was odd, seeing how they should, at the very least, have had her Caduceus staff to heal her. She remembered Gabriel bringing it along – at least, she thought she did. That might have just been a dream.

She shifted, sparking a gasp of pain as her stitches tugged, and she saw Gabriel's face twitch as if he'd heard her, even in his sleep. She bit her lip, trying to keep from waking him – surely he was tired, he'd probably been watching over her since she'd been placed in this room.

Then the door opened, a nurse bustling in, and Gabriel practically flew out of his chair. Angela noticed that his guns were conspicuously missing – someone had probably confiscated them from him; understandably, considering when she'd walked into Jack's room in Naples he'd nearly shot her. That didn't stop him from trying to reach for them, but the nurse – who either had experienced his rough greeting before or had nerves of steel – ignored him to check on Angela.

"How are you feeling?" The woman asked when she saw Angela was awake.

"As well as expected." Angela told her, ignoring Gabriel for the moment to focus on the woman. The woman moved about, checking her vitals and making sure she was properly healthy. She was about to leave when Angela stopped her. "May I see my chart?" The woman vacillated, unsure whether it was appropriate to do such an action.

"Don't worry about that," Gabriel cut in, much to Angela's chagrin and the nurses' relief, "just send the doctor when he's awake." The nurse agreed, and quickly left the room before Angela could ask for anything else. The bedridden blonde glared at Gabriel.

"I don't see why I have to ask the doctor, seeing how _I'm_ his boss." Gabriel shook his head and sat back down.

"Isn't it inappropriate or something for a doctor to deal with their own surgical care?" He asked, and she rolled her eyes.

"Reading my chart doesn't mean I'm _interfering_ with their work." He just _looked_ at her, and she made a face. "Okay, fine, I probably would have – but that doesn't make it _inappropriate_." More like a conflict of interest, but he didn't need to know that. "What I really want to know is why they gave me stitches instead of just patching me up with the healing stream."

"I doubt that's in your chart, Angela." He told her patiently, and she sighed. She knew he was right, but she was trapped in this bed, unable to do anything, and it was extraordinarily frustrating.

"No, it wouldn't be." She replied after a long moment. "But the amount of stitches I have would." She retorted, inappropriately cheery. She knew he was going to lecture her the _moment_ she let this conversation die – because he'd been against her going into the field, because he was afraid of her getting hurt, because he'd carried her away with bullet holes.

"Really." He deadpanned, and she sighed before shaking her head. She really didn't care how many stitches she had – the only thing that mattered was that she wasn't actively bleeding out. There was a long, uncomfortable silence, before he finally spoke.

"Do you know how long they had you in surgery?" He asked quietly. Of course she didn't – she had been unconscious – but she could hazard a guess if she wanted. She considered making a quip about it being in her chart, but figured it would be better to stay silent and opted to shake her head instead. "Almost seven hours." While it wasn't _terribly_ surprising, considering they had stitched up all of her wounds, but it _was_ longer than expected.

"I'm sorry?" She said it as a question, mostly because she wasn't sure what he wanted from her. It wasn't her fault she got shot – that blame laid squarely on her shooters, or (if you reached a little) Cooper for clearing an unsafe room. It also wasn't her fault that the surgeon decided to stitch her shut when he had other tools at his disposal – but it wasn't like she had much of a say in that, seeing how she'd been _unconscious_.

"Seven hours, Angela." He repeated, as if she hadn't heard him. "I had to carry you, broken and bloody, out of that damn factory. You'd lost so much blood on the way in, I wasn't sure you'd come back out." Angela stayed silent; he wasn't looking for reassurances – he could see with his own eyes that she was fine. His eyes searched her face, looked at bandages that were no longer blood soaked, and was silent for so long that Angela wondered if she should say something.

"I didn't want this for you, Angela." His voice was thick with emotion. "When I heard those gun shots, when I _saw_ you on the _ground_ -" he broke off, covering his eyes with one hand and taking a harsh breath.

"Gabriel," she murmured, reaching one hand out as if to comfort – then overextending, sending pain through her chest and forcing her to pull back with a wince. He didn't seem to notice, and for that she was grateful; he was overwrought as it was.

"You were on the ground, blood _everywhere_. And I had to _leave_ you there, on the ground between me and their guns." His voice was harsh, the words were pouring out of him.

"You were bleeding out, and _I'm_ not a doctor. Hell, I wasn't even a damn boy scout as a kid." He lifted his face back up, desperate eyes meeting her own. "You weren't supposed to get hurt." It wasn't really a confession if both of them knew that, was it? "I wanted to keep you safe. I was _supposed_ to keep you safe. I wanted you behind me, so that, if anyone were to be hurt, it would be _me_." He lifted his gaze to hers, almost panicked. "Angela, I would never put you in danger, not willingly, not purposefully. _Never_."

"I know, Gabriel. I know." She found herself comforting him, which was an odd turn of the tables – she'd always expected that, after getting shot, _she'd_ be the one in need of comfort. She hadn't realized how much it would shake him – and she wasn't sure that he had either.

"I gave you the order that nearly got you killed, Angela. I can't- that's not okay. It will never be okay." He ran a hand over his head. "I just wanted to keep you safe, out of the line of fire." He gave a harsh laugh. "If it hadn't been for that ridiculous looking suit of yours, you _would_ be dead - _again_. There were four bullets buried in the damn thing – including _one_ in the back." He fixed her with such a _look_ , and she tried her best to look innocent because they _both_ knew that it had happened before he gave the order to stay behind.

"My suit isn't _ridiculous_." She protested, but that _so_ wasn't the point. She shifted, not knowing how to fix this, not when he was looking at her like his dog just died. Instead, she held out a hand, beckoning with her fingers for him to take it. Hesitantly he grasped her fingers, clutching them too-tightly, as if they were a lifeline.

"I _am_ alive, Gabriel." She whispered firmly. "I am alive and I _will_ be fine – once I get rid of these damned stitches – because _you_ saved me." She gave his hand a shake. "You don't always have to take a bullet to have my back, to save me, Gabriel." Angela gave him a pointed look. "In fact, please avoid getting shot as much as possible. I hate having you under my knife." He laughed again, brittle and short – but she'd gotten him to laugh, and that was something, wasn't it? They were quiet for some time, the only sound her heartbeat amplified by the EKG, their hands still clasped in a near-desperate grasp.

She worried her lip in the silence, thinking – and the EKG gave away her heart as it began to beat faster.

"Angela? Are you-" Gabriel's worried eyes flashed up to hers, spurred by the sudden increase of her heart.

"When you said this would end in heartbreak – you weren't talking about me, were you?" She whispered, cutting him off. It had made sense at the time, because of how personally she took all of her patients – but seeing him now, it made her wonder. He wasn't this panicked when Jack had been in her care – and two people had died under her hands the very same day. It might just be because he'd seen Jack hurt before, but she wasn't sure that she believed it.

"No, I wasn't." He confessed in the growing silence, the words strangled and forced. The EKG machine amplified her shock, and she hated the damn thing for making her _more_ transparent than normal. She squeezed his fingers tightly, unsure of what to say in the face of such a declaration.

She felt like they were on the edge of a knife, and she wasn't sure which way they were going to fall – which way she _wanted_ them to fall.

One side was safe and the other was unknown.

"Angela, I can't-" he cut himself off, tearing his hand from hers to bury his face in both, and she ached for its loss.

"Gabriel-" she had no idea what to say, what to _do_ , to make this situation any better. She knew what he wanted – for her to stay out of the field, but that wasn't a conversation either of them were up for, not with emotions so raw and open, not with her steadfast determination, even now. She hated that she was trapped in this damn bed, when he was obviously hurting not five feet away from her.

"I won't let you die, Angela." The words were harsh and spoken into his hands, as if he were afraid of what he'd see should he look at her. She gasped, eyes widening, and the EKG machine announced her pounding heart for the world to hear. If she could risk it, she'd take the damn sensors off, but she didn't want anyone thinking she was dying – unless death by embarrassment counted – and barging in on this.

She came to a decision all at once and sat up, biting her lip against the twinge in her chest, and swung her legs over the edge of the bed. Angela nearly collapsed when she slid out of the bed – only a firm grasp on the rail kept her upright, but only barely – as her head swam and her knees ached. Either she made a noise or he just _chose_ that moment to look up.

"Angela, what in the- get back in bed!" He snapped anxiously, rising to his feet and reaching out carefully, as if afraid he'd break her. She was grateful for him standing – that made it so much easier to wrap her arms around him, but not too tightly because the IV was still in her arm and _ouch_ that pulled, but the ache was worth it. He stiffened, arms raised above her carefully.

"I'm sorry I scared you." She whimpered, her cheek pressed against his chest – where she could feel his heart pounding as rapidly as her own. His arms settled around her slowly, one arm securely at her waist and the other hand on the crown of her head. "I was scared, too."

Her eyes welled – she'd nearly _died_ – and he held her as her tears soaked his shirt.

"I've got you, Angela." He whispered, carefully supporting her form. "I've got you."

It wasn't until her knees buckled and threatened to collapse under her, with only his arm at her waist kept her on her feet, that he forced her back into bed, but lingering hands betrayed how loathe was to release her.

"Go back to sleep, Angela." He told her gruffly, once she was safely tucked in and he'd pulled his hands back to himself. "We can talk about it when you're better." He turned to sit back down, and once he was settled she cautiously held out one hand in silent query.

"Just until I fall asleep?" She whispered when he hesitated, her eyes showing how much she needed the tactile comfort. He nodded, dragging the chair forward so their joined hands could rest comfortably at her side on the bed.

There was no more room for words – not while her chest was filled with stitches and his was soaked with tears.

* * *

She was woken a second time by the doctors' arrival, Gabriel's hand still in hers. Once it was clear there was no real reason _not_ to, Angela had her staff turned against her. Within a few hours she was up and moving about, though her chest would always bear faint lines as a reminder of what had happened in Venezuela.

They spent another four days in South America, though it wasn't nearly as violent as that first day. Gabriel and Angela – the air between them heavy with words unsaid – returned to the Venezuelan factory as soon as she was up for travel, so that they could help the agents left behind in protecting it until they were relieved by the military. The words were much too private to be said in the field, surrounded by practical strangers. Instead, she pretended like it didn't bother her – that she was back in that factory, that she'd been shot _three_ times, that she wasn't slowly crumbling to pieces inside.

When they arrived back in Zürich, Jack and Ana were waiting for them. When Angela deplaned, bag of gear hooked over one shoulder, Ana seized her and looked her over with careful eyes.

"Ana…?" The name escaped her lips hesitantly.

"We'd heard you were shot." Jack explained as the woman's face relaxed as she took in Angela's unbroken form.

"We were worried." The woman pulled her into a brief hug, and when she pulled back Angela smiled at the two of them. "Are you alright?"

"I'm just fine." She assured them both, glancing back towards Gabriel without thinking. "Gabriel got me to Santa Marta and they put me back together." She forced her voice to be cheery, because if she wasn't cheery she'd cry and she didn't need anyone else trying to pull her out of field work. It was hard enough handling Gabriel; she didn't need the other two on her case as well.

She walked back, Ana on one side and Jack on the other and leaving Gabriel to bring up the rear. They were talking, but she barely heard the words – somehow she managed to make appropriate sounds to keep the conversation flowing. Now that she was _home_ , all she wanted to do was curl up in her bed. Angela knew she should go downstairs – to the infirmary, to make sure there wasn't anyone needing her attention; to the lab, to see if there had been any breakthroughs, to see if they needed a push in a new direction; or even to her office, where she could read more reports or continue more research. She had a duty to those below, but that didn't stop her from separating from the other three on the eighth floor. Citing exhaustion and the need to unpack from the last few days, she ducked off the elevator to hide herself away.

Angela wasn't surprised to find Gabriel pounding at her door almost five hours later. She was honestly surprised he hadn't sought her out sooner, but she supposed he was taking care of the duties she was shirking. She _knew_ she should go downstairs, bury herself in work, but she'd been moving and working – anything to ignore the fact that she was _shot three times_ , to try to forget about the heavy words said in the dark, of wondering what would come next – for nearly a week, and she couldn't manage to force herself to get off the couch that she'd collapsed on.

She just stared at him, one hand on the door, while he looked her over – as if she'd have gotten hurt since he'd seen her in the elevator.

"No one had seen you in a while." He said finally, and she could understand how that would be concerning, seeing how he and the others often had to force her to bed – or to eat. Normally she'd have been downstairs, unpacking be damned – well, to be fair, she hadn't unpacked anything from the bag that was still in the middle of her floor – because there was work to be done. "I just wanted to make sure you were alright."

"I must have lost track of time." Angela tried to line she used so often, but it just came out tired. He raised an eyebrow.

"For five hours? In your _room_?" His tone was gentle. She knew he could see the red tint to her eyes that clearly gave away what she had been doing in her room. She shrugged helplessly, unable to think up even a lame excuse.

"Do you want to talk about it?" The familiar phrase dropped from his lips, low and intense. Angela nodded hesitantly, but made no move to let him in as she looked down towards their feet.

"I don't want to fight, Gabriel. Not tonight." She knew there would be a fight – it was absolutely inevitable, with her stubbornness and his protective streak – but she wasn't up to dealing with it tonight.

"That's alright." He wasn't dumb – he was just as aware of the fight looming on the horizon – but even he knew better than to push his luck. "We'll just talk." He assured her. She nodded, a small, lifeless motion, and moved to the side to let him in.

They moved into the living area, with her curling up on one edge of the sofa and him sprawling on the other, leaving almost a full cushion between the two of them. She made no comment on his seating choice, instead shifting so that it was easier to look at him. Angela sat quietly, and he seemed content to wait for her to speak.

"Why do you do it?" She finally broke the silence, glancing over at him. He looked over at her questioningly; she didn't blame him, seeing how there were so many things should be referring to. "Why do you go into the field?" She amended. "You know why I go, but you – you could stay here. Avoid getting hurt." Angela tore her gaze away to look at her hands.

"Would I sound full of myself if I said it's because I'm a better soldier than many of our agents?" She choked on a laugh, glancing towards him incredulously.

"No more than if I said I was a better doctor than most of the medical division." She admitted after a long moment of consideration.

"Good – because it's true. Not really their fault, seeing how I got enhancements courtesy of the U.S. government, but still." Angela wasn't shocked – she'd seen his file. It was pretty locked down – she doubted anyone in the medical division aside from Gloria, the ex-head, knew about it.

"So, since I'm better solider I'm also a better pick. I can't be everywhere," he gave her a pointed look that she ignored, "but I – and Jack – go wherever we will do the most good. Lead the soldiers, keep as many alive as possible, take hits that others can't survive." He shrugged.

"I go into the field, take more bullets than probably I should, but the mission is a success. I live – because our medical staff is excellent," another pointed look, but one she preened under, "and so do our men." He glanced over at her appraisingly. "Does that answer your question?" Angela nodded slowly, before leaning back in the sofa.

"I didn't realize how much it hurts, getting shot." She murmured, a hand resting on her chest where one of the bullets had lodged. "Strange, isn't it? I've fixed up so many bullet holes, but I never _really_ knew what they were like."

"I hope you aren't telling me you _wanted_ to get shot." Gabriel growled. "I could have saved us both a _lot_ of trouble." Angela shook her head.

"No, I didn't _want_ to get shot." She shuddered, hand fisting over her chest before dropping. "I could have done without the experience." She admitted. Angela had been faced with the mortality of others – over and over and _over_ again – but that was the first time she'd been faced with her own. She closed her eyes, taking a deep breath, forcing her mind to stay in the here-and-now, opening them again suddenly when she felt Gabriel move to put his hand on her shoulder.

"Are you still with me?" He asked, watching her face carefully.

"I'm still here." She whispered, giving him a small smile. "For now, at least." He nodded and pulled his hand away, but he made no move to shift back down the sofa to where he had originated.

"Do you ever get used to it? The pain, I mean?" She glanced sidelong at him. "Because I've got to be honest – it was _really_ awful."

"Getting shot isn't supposed to be a _party_ , Angela." He retorted, exasperated. "It's _supposed_ to fucking hurt – you know, so that you _don't_ let it happen again."

"But you _just_ said that you take more bullets than you should – and you took bullets for me _on purpose_ – so answer my question." She pointed out, crossing her arms. While she hoped to _not_ get shot again, she was realistic enough to know it would probably happen again. She also knew she was skating thin ice, too close to a conversation that she couldn't have, but at the same time with information that she needed.

"I'm not a good judge for that, Angela," he finally responded, glaring down at the ground instead of her, "considering those enhancements we were talking about earlier." He turned to look at her. "You said you don't want to fight, and I'm _trying_ to respect that – so drop this, _please_." She bit her lip but nodded all the same – she had realized she was playing with fire.

"Sorry, Gabriel." She murmured, pulling her knees up to wrap her arms around them. "I wasn't trying to upset you." He sighed.

"I know you weren't." He acknowledged, though his tone didn't have her convinced. Her lips twitched into a ghost of a smile, before sobering again.

"I keep dreaming about it." She muttered into her knees. He wanted a different topic, and if she couldn't talk about the wounds, she'd talk about her nightmares. Angela doubted he was surprised – she certainly wasn't. She had nightmares about everything – why wouldn't the scariest moment in her entire life be there, too? "I – they're really upsetting." She whispered, glancing over towards him, asking permission with her eyes – the first time she'd ever asked for permission to speak since joining Overwatch, silently or aloud.

"Whatever it is, Angela, it's alright." He reassured her. "I'll listen."

"You were there – you saved my life – in Venezuela, but in my dreams…" She hesitated; her memories of Venezuela after she was shot were scattered, but the night in the infirmary was still vivid, even now. She knew her words would upset him – they upset _her_ – and she didn't want that.

"Tell me, Angela." His voice was low, and he shifted on the sofa again – she wasn't sure how, as she didn't look. Angela bit her lip hard and stared at the loveseat across from her.

"In my dreams, you aren't there." She admits, like it's some terrible crime instead of a nightmare that she has no control over. "You're dead or you're somewhere else, I don't really know. You're just absent, and I just _know_ you aren't coming." Angela shrugs, trying to appear blasé but only looking small, tucked up as she is. "And then I have to patch myself up, or one of the others is trying, and sometimes I survive – and other times I bleed out in agony." She blew out a breath, closing her eyes against their sting.

"It's stupid – but you _promised_ – just like _I_ promised – and in my dreams – it just _hurts_ , I'm _dying_ – and _you're not there_." It comes out, broken and disjointed, barely even coherent through her babbling and the sobs in her throat, but it's there, ugly and wrong. She buries her face in her knees, hugging them tighter, because she _can't_ look at him, _can't_ bear to see if his eyes are still gentle or if they are harder, meaner, because he _wasn't_ there in her dreams and what's to say that it wasn't an accurate reflection of reality? She dreams of the dead so often, and that's certainly fact – why wouldn't _this_ be too?

And though she'd been hoping, she was still surprised when his arm wrapped around her shoulders and pulled her against his side. Her arms loosen from the death grip on her knees and she twists, fisting hands in his shirt and pressing her face against him again – a move that almost feels natural.

"Go ahead, let it all out." He murmurs, hand stroking her hair gently, soothingly. "I've got you."

It's some time before she's calmed down again – but she stays where she is, one cheek pressed to his chest, listening to his lungs and heart. Somewhere in the back of her mind, she's assessing them, but the rest of her is letting it soothe and ground her – a familiar sound against the overwhelming tides of terror.

"Gabriel?" She whispers thickly, voice muffled by his shirt.

"Yes?" He rumbles back, the words echoing in her ears from above and below. She worries her lip.

"What are we doing?" It sounds stupid – childish, even – out loud, but it had been nagging her since Venezuela. His whole body – the arm around her, the chest under her – stiffens for a moment before he relaxes again.

"From what I could tell," she already _knew_ his response was going to be sarcastic, damn him, "you were upset and I was comforting you." She rolled her eyes – a movement lost on him, since she _still_ hadn't moved.

"You _know_ that's not what I meant." He sighed – a big, heaving movement that made her head rise and fall with him.

"Angela, we don't need to do this." His tone was resigned, but she couldn't – wouldn't – accept that as an answer.

He'd taken the time to make sure she was settling well – and then making sure she'd take care of herself when it was obvious she would allow that to fall to the wayside. He kept her secrets – all of them – and didn't make her feel ashamed of them. He'd taken _bullets_ for her and put her back together when she was broken and bleeding and dying. And now – now he was holding her so carefully that she thought she _might_ just break.

They had to fall over the edge, one way or the other.

" _Please,_ Gabriel," she begged, "I can't – we can't – keep doing this – whatever _this_ is. I feel like I'm going crazy." And maybe she was – maybe her nightmares had finally driven her over the edge, maybe she just _didn't_ get the whole friend thing, maybe she was imagining _everything_ – but she needed an answer.

"You're not crazy, Angela." He muttered, which _still_ wasn't an answer. She shifted so that she could twist her face to glare up at him, still practically sprawled against him and unwilling – unable – to give a damn that normally she'd be embarrassed.

" _Gabriel_." The word was a reproach and a plea wrapped in one, and he closed his eyes, lips moving silently for a moment before he looked down at her with resolve. _Finally_ , maybe she'd get an answer.

"I care about you, Angela – more than I probably should." He murmured, cheeks reddening slightly. Of course he did – she knew that, or they wouldn't even be _having_ this conversation.

"I care about you too, Gabriel," she replied, brows furrowed. He rolled his eyes upwards briefly.

" _Dios mío_ ; Angela you're _supposed_ to be the smart one," he muttered, before his eyes returned to her face. She bristled and opened her mouth to retort, but was swiftly cut off by his lips on hers. It was a brief kiss, just long enough to get his point across and to set her cheeks aflame. He pulled back to look down at her, a small smirk playing at his lips once he took in her face.

"Understand now?" She nodded dumbly, relieved that she _wasn't_ crazy. Really, what was there to say? She sat there, twisted in the same mildly awkward angle, long enough for him to look concerned.

"Are you alright, Angela?" She wasn't quite sure that _alright_ was an appropriate descriptor, but it would do; she nodded, clearing her throat self-consciously and licking her lips.

"What, ah, what happens now?" They had fallen into the unknown, and she wasn't sure where – or how – to step; the rules had changed but she hadn't been given a copy. He laughed, a low and rich sound full of self-derision and leaned back against her sofa.

"Nothing, Angela." He told her firmly, which only made her more confused. "Nothing changes; I don't expect anything from you." She just _stared_ at him – she didn't even know where to begin, what to say, because she didn't even know what he was _talking_ about. He didn't expect _what_ , exactly? " _What?_ I don't- Angela, I'm not trying to coerce you into doing something you don't want." _Oh_. He thought that- her face turned scarlet, but she powered on resolutely. She was an adult and she could have an adult conversation, even if it _killed_ her.

"Gabriel, you're not _coercing_ me into doing _anything_." She insisted, gripping his shirt like it was the only thing keeping her on the planet. He made a sound of disbelief, and if she were sitting apart she'd throw her hands up in annoyance.

"Angela-" he began, as if he could convince her that he was _somehow_ in the wrong, but she cut him off.

" _Gottverdammt_ , Gabriel, I'm not a child. I _am_ capable of making up my own mind." And here they were, fighting, when it was the last thing she'd wanted to do. At least it wasn't about going into the field, which was a small mercy – but she imagined they'd get there eventually.

"I never _said_ you were a child, Angela." He growled back, meeting her glare with one of his own, his body stiff under her hands. "I just don't want-"

"But what if it's what _I_ want?" She demanded fiercely. His mouth opened, but nothing came out. "Please, Gabriel," she said, confusion and longing in her voice, "what happens now?" He smiled down at her gently, shifting his weight slightly on the sofa beneath her.

"Right now, you relax and let me hold you." He told her gently. "We'll figure the rest out as we go." It wasn't the answer she wanted, but she wasn't foolish enough to expect a better one. She allowed him to draw her back down against his chest, doing as he said and relaxing against him.

"This doesn't change anything, does it? With Overwatch?" She asked, closing her eyes. "Because I'm still going to – probably – do things you don't like, and this – whatever _this_ is – can't affect that." They would argue and fight – heavens knew they'd already done enough in the past and they had another argument slated for later in the week if he had his way – and she wasn't sure how this would, could, affect this.

"Of course it doesn't. You're _still_ Dr. Ziegler and I'm _still_ Commander Reyes." Angela sighed in relief. "We're still going to argue." He admitted with a sigh. "I still get to boss you around." He teased and she made a face.

"Is _that_ what you've been doing all this time? I'd wondered." She retorted, and he chuckled.


	11. Surprise

**Surprise**

* * *

I am so _so_ sorry for how long this chapter took to post. Work and the reappearance of old friends (plus the fact that I just did. not. know. what to do with this chapter) made this take much longer than it should have! I hope this chapter was worth the wait!

* * *

She didn't want to go downstairs, but she didn't have much of a choice. She'd had her pity party with Gabriel last night and she had responsibilities that required her attention today – even if she didn't want to be around other people. Still, she knew that once she got focused, she'd be fine – it was just getting to that point.

So, she went down to the infirmary to make her rounds – though there wasn't much for her to do. Gloria had it handled, so she merely poked her head in on the patients – one mild sprain and one broken collarbone from training – before moving along to the research labs. There hadn't been any breakthroughs, but they were steadily working towards the goals she had placed for them.

She ended up in her office, reading the various reports that had come in before turning to her own research into biotic limbs. She knew it was possible to make a person out of the limbs – that was how the omnics came about – but, aside from limbs, transplanting had never been successful. It took some time, but she managed to abandon herself within the research. It was getting very close to where she would need to start using the lab – theories would only take her so far – but she was loathe to begin any kind of testing without as many fail-safes as possible.

She'd heard the door open and shut behind her, but she didn't turn around. Angela had no idea what time it was, but she was willing to bet the person behind her was here to drag her away. She was in the middle of a thought, and if she didn't jot it all down she'd probably never remember it all.

"Just a minute." Angela called over her shoulder, scribbling furiously. Whomever it was waited patiently by the door – which told her it was _probably_ Ana. Jack would have taken a seat or walked over to look at her notes – not that he could read them, seeing how they were in German – and Gabriel would have just started talking anyway, because he figured that it would get her moving faster. Angela finished the notes a few minutes later and turned around. As expected, Ana was leaning against the door, the very picture of patience. Angela supposed that, as a sniper, she would need to be. She quickly glanced up at the clock.

"Hello, Ana." She told the woman, glancing to see it was near lunchtime. Angela grabbed her medical coat and rose.

"Angela, dear, how are you feeling?" Ana asked her as she rounded her desk, looking her face over – it seemed everyone was worried about her. She didn't – quite – blame them, seeing how she _was_ recently shot.

"I'm just fine, Ana. Fully healed with barely a scar." The doctor assured her. "A bit behind on my research, but that's nothing that can't be fixed." It didn't help that she'd had trouble focusing for the first hour, but she'd manage. She always did. Ana shook her head and remained against the door.

"I know you're _physically_ fine, Angela." Her dark eyes seemed to see right through Angela. "But you were shot, and I know that's traumatic. I've seen it affect even the strongest soldier – and you, darling, are not a soldier." The words were gentle even as they were direct. Angela sighed and leaned back against her desk. Apparently she was to be held hostage in her own office.

"You may have forgotten, Ana, but I deal with catastrophic trauma relatively often – including traveling for hours to handle it." Angela forced her tone to be light.

It wasn't that she didn't want to talk to or confide in Ana – on the contrary, she thought that the woman would be a great source of comfort and wisdom. She just didn't trust that her thoughts and feelings wouldn't get back to Jack – because she knew that, while she was well-meaning, Ana would give Jack whatever information she thought he needed to make decisions concerning Overwatch, and her. Ana had Jack's back above all else – as was only appropriate. Angela was lucky that Gabriel hadn't spilled all her secrets – though maybe they were just _really_ good at hiding their knowledge.

"I somehow doubt that surgery compares to being shot in the field." Ana replied dryly, one eyebrow raised.

"Well, there is _substantially_ less pain involved for me in surgery, yes." Angela agreed. The doctor forced her hands to remain at her sides on the desk instead of allowing them to reach up to touch the places that the bullets had pierced her chest. "I swear, Ana, that I am just fine. I'm dealing with it."

"You know, you don't have to 'deal with it' – as you put it – alone." Ana told her kindly, and Angela bit her tongue before she said something she wasn't ready to discuss.

"I talked to Gabriel." Angela admitted after a long silence, unable to think of a pat excuse or explanation to get out of this. She sped past it, forcing herself to keep looking up at Angela instead of away, as if she had something to hide. "You know, since he was there and all."

"Ah, I see." Ana said, fixing Angela with a knowing look – and the blonde couldn't help the pink that came to her cheeks.

"So, I'm _fine_." The blonde repeated, squirming slightly under Ana's gaze. "Though, I really do appreciate your concern." She smiled, trying to ignore the heat in her cheeks. The older woman nodded slowly after searching Angela's face – for what, the woman wasn't sure, but she was desperately hoping Ana wasn't finding anything Angela still wanted hidden.

It wasn't like she was ashamed of anything – more like she didn't want to deal with the teasing and _looks_.

"You can always come to me, if you want to talk." Ana told her sincerely. Angela smiled beatifically at the woman.

"I know that. You're too good to me." The older woman scoffed and moved away from the door so they could leave.

"Nonsense."

* * *

As usual, she was working late into the night when Gabriel barged into her office. Unfortunately, she'd barely gotten anything done – after Ana had deposited her back in her office, she'd struggled to get refocused and then Jack had dragged her to dinner. She'd planned to be in the lab tomorrow, so she _had_ to finish her theories tonight so she could begin experimentation tomorrow.

"Angela, go to bed." He said, coming to loom over her with arms crossed. Once, the action would have unnerved her, but now she just glanced up – one eyebrow quirked – before looking back to the paper before her.

"I'm nearly done, Gabriel." She told him breezily; once she'd gotten past her rut she found it easy to throw herself back into her work.

"You're _always_ nearly done, Angela. It's late and you need to sleep." He told her firmly. The medical professional in her knew he was right – sleep was important to keep a person healthy, just like food was – but it didn't stop her from suppressing the needs. Still, she glanced past him briefly to look at the clock.

"It's not even one thirty yet." She said, as if that excused anything. He made an incredulous sound, clearly disagreeing with her sentiment.

"Do you even _hear_ yourself? It's after midnight; you should be _asleep_." She paused, hand poised over the paper, before forcing herself to continue working.

"You know why I work late." Angela told him tiredly, before finishing the thought and setting the pencil aside, knowing that – one way or the other – she was done with this for the evening.

"And you know how I feel about it." She closed her eyes at his tone, before looking up with a sigh. Were they really going to do this now?

"We both know how this conversation ends, Gabriel." He raised an eyebrow.

"Really? Then tell me, doctor," he spread his hands invitingly, "how does it end?"

"With you walking me to my room, each of us angry at the other." She crossed her arms, daring him to challenge her words. They _both_ knew that she was right, that there was no way to compromise on this. Either she went into the field or she didn't – there were no halfway measures.

"Dammit, Angela." Yes, they were doing this now. "I don't want you in the field." His words were _almost_ an order – a Commander to his subordinate – but she noticed that he didn't contradict her.

"I seem to remember getting clearance to do just that." Angela responded fiercely. He couldn't _force_ her into staying out of the field – not without Jack, at the least, backing him. She had no doubt that he _could_ manage it – but it would take some convincing on his part. Angela leaned forward, gripping the arms of her chair. "I go, and will _continue_ to go, wherever I am needed. Sometimes it's an operating room in another country – other times it will be onto a field of bullets."

"Are you _that_ eager to get shot again?" He demanded, and despite herself she winced. She clutched the arms of the chair tightly to keep her hands from raising to touch her chest where the bullets had punched through.

"You _know_ I'm not." And she really, truly did _not_ want to get shot again. "But I am willing to risk it." If it meant she could save someone that might otherwise die, she would willingly rush into combat – even if she had to take a bullet or two to do it.

"You don't _need_ to risk it – there are plenty of medics." He insisted, voice raising. "Let them do their jobs."

"It's my job, too." He scoffed, a harsh, scornful sound, but she pressed on. "When you hired me, _you_ told me I could see patients in whatever capacity _I_ chose – or were those empty words?" Angela challenged, releasing her death grip on the chair to cross her arms.

"We both know that I never meant for you to see combat – not even then." He growled at her, turning to slam himself in the chair on the other side of the desk. "I seem to remember you agreeing to that, once." She knew he was right, just as she was, and she glared at him for a long moment, before glancing away to concede the point.

"That doesn't change the fact that it's still my job _now_." Angela told him. "I've got the Valkyrie suit – which we _both_ know is a huge asset – and it's tailored to _me_." Changing the suit at this point would be nearly as expensive as the research had been – and while Overwatch had funds, no one could afford to just _throw_ away money like that. Which reminded her – she grabbed a pen to scribble a reminder to mend the suit.

"I'm sure we can find another medic your size to pilot it." Gabriel informed her, and it was her turn to scoff.

"Of all the combat medics that could fit it, I can't think of a single one I would trust with the suit – or that it wouldn't be wasted on." The words were harsh, but true. Most of the medics who would be able to use the suit rarely saw the combat it was built for, either due to their skills or disposition in the field.

"Of _course_ you can't. It's not like you're unbiased." He accused, and her eyes flashed with real anger.

"I apologize. I must have forgotten that you are so _knowledgeable_ about the limitations of _my_ staff." Her words were hard and brittle. "How could I forget that I was hired on to agree with everything my _Commander_ tells me?" She leaned forward to point at him. "Do not presume that I would _ever_ misappropriate my staff. I would _never_ jeopardize lives just so that _I_ could have glory."

"Angela, I didn't mean-" he started, hands raised in surrender – or apology – but she cut him off.

"Didn't mean _what_ , exactly? That I am too _prideful_ to stand aside when necessary? That I don't _tirelessly_ work to make sure my staff – my entire _division_ – is equipped with the best Overwatch can afford, the best _I_ can create? That I am incompetent or unprofessional when it comes to field work?" The words were dangerous, her entire form tense as she glared across the desk at him. He stared at her at a loss for words.

"I'm sorry." He offered finally, and it mollified her a little. "I shouldn't have said that."

"No," she said tightly, "you should not have." They sat in a tense silence, her glare unrelenting as he tried to figure out what to say to bring her temper down. She herself knew she was inordinately angry, and leaned back to run a hand over her face.

"You're valuable _here_ , Angela. You heal our wounded and you find new ways to keep them that way. _There_ are other ways you can help without _ever_ seeing combat – ways that you are much better suited to." He insisted.

"But at what cost? Far too often my skills are needed in the field, but instead I'm relegated to an operating room hours away." The anger was there still, but it wasn't as terrible – as ferocious – as it was before. "I have made – and will make – plenty of innovations, but that doesn't mean it is all I am good for."

"Is it so terrible that I want you safe, Angela?" He asked her eventually, glancing to the side, and she felt a pang of guilt cut through the remnants of her anger – but tried to shove it aside. "You'd think getting shot would have convinced you to stay out of harm's way."

"I'll just have to be quicker next time, won't I?" She countered with a shaky smile.

"There shouldn't _be_ a next time!" He snapped back, and she frowned, all humor gone.

"Do you think I enjoy watching _you_ go, knowing there's a high probability you'll be coming back on a gurney? That I _want_ to put you back together every time you leave?" She demanded. Two could play this game. Angela fixed him with a look.

"I have never asked you to remain behind – never asked _anything_ of you, save that you come home alive, that you bring our agents home." She leaned back into her chair. "I would ask that you show me the same respect."

"You don't have to go with me." The words hurt her chest even as she said them, but she managed to get them past her lips. "I know," she licked her lips, "I know you don't want to see me hurt. Ana or Jack can-"

" _No_." He shut down her words quickly. "If you're going into the field, I'm going with you." There was a brief pause, before he sighed in resignation. "I won't stop you, since you seem hellbent on going, but I can make sure you get home safely." She smiled, biting her tongue on a retort; it wouldn't do to instigate him when he'd conceded defeat.

"Good." She said instead, getting to her feet. "I suppose I should turn in, then." She'd have to finish her writing tomorrow – and fix the Valkyrie suit while she was at it. The lab could wait for another day. Angela moved to the door, Gabriel following at her heels.

"I understand that you don't like this." Angela told him as they waited for the elevator. "But I'm working to make it safer every day." Well, not _every_ day – she was also working on her biotic limb research – but she _was_ working on it.

"I know you are." Then the door was opening and he stepped inside, selecting the button for the eighth floor. After a moments' hesitation, Angela followed suit. She considered going to her normal spot against the right wall, but, well – they were _something_ , weren't they? Instead, she entered and stood next to him, her left arm against his right.

She felt his eyes on her, but she didn't glance up or back as the elevator doors slid shut. Angela resisted the urge to fidget, to move away, and was rewarded by his arm moving to slide around her shoulders. She smiled, even if he couldn't see it, and leaned against his side.

"Are you angry?" Angela asked, just before they reached the eighth floor. She wasn't – she was rather pleased, actually – but she knew that he'd lost their on-going battle, and she wasn't sure how he would take it.

"No." He said after a long moment of consideration. "Worried is a better word for it, but I'll deal with it." Gabriel propelled her out of the elevator once the doors opened, gently directing her towards her room.

Once they were outside her room, she pivoted and wrapped her arms around his middle for a brief hug. She knew – from movies, at least, which weren't necessarily the _best_ source material – that the guy kisses the girl goodnight at the door, but she didn't know that the real world, _her_ world, worked that way. So, she stepped back, suddenly shy, unsure of what she should do, smiling nervously up at Gabriel before fumbling with her ID to unlock the door. Gabriel chuckled, and she jumped a little when he put a hand on her shoulder and leaned down to murmur in her ear.

"Relax, Angela. I'm not going to bite you." She didn't know why she was so _nervous_ ; she'd been just fine up until they reached her door. He'd said they wouldn't do anything she didn't want, but she wasn't sure what she _did_ want – at least, not the specifics – and she didn't know if she could just _ask_ him. There was no one _to_ ask; sure, she could go to Ana or Jack, but the thought alone made her want to die of embarrassment.

"I know." She muttered back, pushing the door open and turning slightly so she could look at him. "I'll see you tomorrow?" Angela wasn't sure if that would be the case; before last night she could count on seeing him once or twice a week, but now? She wasn't even sure where up was sometimes.

"Of course." He told her, reaching out to brush a stray lock of her hair behind an ear, fingers brushing her cheek lightly, before stepping back. "Good night, Angela."

"Good night." She whispered, closing the door between them.

* * *

"It's heading for Hamburg, Germany." Jack explained to the other three, whose eyes were looking at the screens, which showed some kind of rocket travelling towards Earths' surface. "It should land in about twenty-six hours; we'll have a more accurate landing zone in just under ten hours. We need to be in place, in cases this is an attack by the gorillas of Horizon." Everyone knew about the experiments gone wrong in the lunar base, but no one had expected anything to come from space – especially when the omnics were a much more pressing concern.

"What if it _isn't_ an attack?" Angela asked, arms crossed as she watched the screens. There was no telling what was aboard that ship – it could be explosives or a peace offering.

"Need I remind you, Angela, that the gorillas murdered the scientists of Horizon?" Jack responded. "There is no reason to believe this _isn't_ an attack." Angela tore her gaze away from the screens to glare at the blonde.

"Yes, but in the _extremely unlikely_ chance that this isn't an attack, what are we going to do?" She asked again.

"If it's not an attack, we'll handle it accordingly." Gabriel rumbled from her left. "As long as we don't shoot first, it shouldn't be that hard to manage." Jack nodded his agreement.

"It doesn't look like it could contain more than two of those gorillas." Ana interrupted, still looking at the screen. "So, at worst, we'll be dealing with two of them." Angela turned to the table, pulling up the Horizon research notes that Overwatch had obtained from Luchneg Interstellar.

"If it _is_ an attack," Angela said finally, "you'd better send plenty of men – two of those gorillas, left unchecked, could do an extreme amount of damage." Her eyes found the map. "You'll want to evacuate the area of civilians, just in case." She doubted that she needed to tell _them_ that, but it made her feel better all the same.

"We'll take care of it, Angela." Jack agreed. "Just in case things _do_ go south," he gave her a pointed look, clearly believing that would be the case, "I want to send three medics." Angela raised an eyebrow – it wasn't often he requested multiple people from her outside of rescue missions. "If there's two gorillas on that thing – and there's no reason to think there isn't – do you think one person could keep up with the damage it could cause?" Well, when he put it that way, it did sound reasonable didn't it?

While they started discussing how many agents, and which, they should send, she opened her personnel files to pick her contributions. They were still discussing dispositions when she interrupted them.

"I will send Daigneau – but you'd better get him on a plane now, since he's in Algeria – as well as Remington and myself." She leaned back against the table, daring any of them to challenge her right to go.

"Angela, we haven't decided if one of us is going on this mission." Ana responded carefully, and Angela shot her an incredulous look.

"You mean to tell me that we might be under attack by genetically enhanced gorillas and not one of our Commanders are intending to be there? I'm shocked." Gabriel smothered a laugh, and she crossed her arms. "All _four_ of us went out for Bianchi; I'm sure one of you will rise to the occasion now." Angela pushed herself off the table. "I'm going to get ready; let me know when we leave."

The doctor glanced at Gabriel, who gave her a resigned nod, before leaving the room. One way or another, the two of them would be going to meet the rocket. Angela paged Remington on her communicator as she stepped off the elevator into the basement, heading towards her office.

"Remington." The man answered, his face coming into focus.

"Get ready. We're heading to Germany." Angela told her; she wished they knew when they were leaving to give him a better order, but they hadn't even known who they were sending when she'd walked out of the room.

"Anything specific I should prepare for?" The man asked as she closed her office door behind her, making it easier to speak frankly – though she couldn't say the same for where he was. She wasn't sure that the others wanted the fact that gorillas may be coming to be advertised.

"There's a high possibility of major casualties. The mission has rated three medics – just in case." His eyes widened briefly, but he nodded.

"I understand, doctor. I will prepare." They disconnected, and she reached out to Daigneau.

"What do I owe the pleasure, doctor?" Daigneau asked.

"Get your gear; you're heading to Germany."

* * *

The rocket had just landed and they were in position. Agents had guns in hand, cautiously pointed towards the rocket – though Gabriel had made it clear that no one was to fire unless they were an _obvious_ danger. Gabriel was standing in line with the door – was door the right word? she wasn't really sure what to call it – to the rocket, with her in her Valkyrie suit, staff in hand, a step behind him. He wasn't holding his guns, though they were within easy reach should he need them.

The door swung open with a hiss, and a gorilla that, on all fours, stood as tall as she was exited the craft. Absurdly, it was wearing a pair of glasses.

"Uh… hi there." The creature said after a long, awkward silence, raising one hand to rub the back of its head. There was a shift among the agents as it moved, and the gorilla froze before putting it back down. Discretely, Angela kicked Gabriel – who turned his head just enough to glare at her without losing sight of the gorilla. She nodded towards the gorilla; they couldn't stay here all day just staring at each other. He was in charge, so he needed to talk to it – no matter how ridiculous the thought of talking to a gorilla was.

"Do you have a name?" Gabriel finally demanded – and Angela rolled her eyes; he definitely could use some lessons in tact.

"I am Winston." The gorilla declared after a moments' hesitation; Angela couldn't recall reading about a subject named Winston, but then again most had been referred to by their specimen number in the reports. She glanced over his clothing, trying to get a hint of which specimen they were dealing with. Knowing which one was before they would be a great help in this conversation.

"And why, Winston, are you here?" Gabriel continued, crossing his arms and shifting his weight.

"I didn't agree with the others – erm, the other gorillas that is – and I left." Angela didn't have to see Gabriel's face to see the look of disbelief. She could hear murmurs from the agents around them. Angela reached out to touch Gabriel's elbow, and he turned to look at her with one eyebrow raised.

"What?" He whispered, clearly not impressed that she was interrupting.

"Ask him what his specimen designation was." Angela whispered back, glancing towards the gorilla briefly.

"What does that even matter?" He demanded incredulously.

"He might _actually_ be friendly; there were a small number of specimens that weren't hostile before the attack." She explained, a touch of exasperation in her voice. He didn't look convinced. "If you don't ask, I will."

" _Fine_." He sighed, before returning his full attention to the gorilla that was standing patiently. Raising his voice, Gabriel called out to him again. "What was your, er, specimen designation, Winston?" He stumbled over the words; Angela sighed and shook her head. The gorilla looked surprised.

"I was specimen 28. Dr. Harold Winston was my caretaker." Angela's mind raced, considering the gorilla before her. Gabriel glanced back at her, trying to see if she had any further information for him. She worried her lip.

"I think he's friendly." She offered.

"I need more than an _I think_." He told her, and she spread her hands in front of her.

"What do you want from me? Without observation, we can't determine _anything_." She retorted. "I don't think he'll harm anyone, but the gene therapy caused the other subjects to become hostile." Gabriel turned back to the gorilla again.

"Winston, I am Commander Reyes of Overwatch." The gorilla did not look impressed. "We are going to take you into our custody. Once we have determined that you are not a threat, we will grant you your freedom." Angela wondered, suddenly, where they were going to put him. She supposed, with some shifting, she could get one of the observation rooms properly suited for a… creature of his size.

"Very well, Commander." The gorilla agreed.

* * *

"You will _not_ be in a room with that gorilla." Gabriel ordered her. She'd called ahead to Zürich, and her researchers had managed to clear out their equipment from one of the observation rooms and get a large bed installed. Now, Winston was in the room with four armed guards, and she wanted to get started on the testing necessary to keep their subject from becoming unstable. They had the research from Dr. Winston, but it had been some time since his passing.

"The last time I checked, _I_ oversee the medical division." Angela retorted, glancing down at the clipboard in her hand briefly, before looking back up at him. "That means you don't get to decide what I do with the gorilla." She was still in her Valkyrie suit – it wouldn't give her much protection, should the gorilla turn on her, but it was more than nothing. She made to walk around him – she needed to get started on Winstons' testing.

 _"Angela."_ He grabbed her by the shoulders, physically stopping her. The blonde glanced up, surprised. "Do you have _any_ idea what it can do to you?"

"Well, a regular silverback gorilla is estimated to be about ten to twelve times stronger than a human – with his gene therapy, I imagine _he's_ a bit stronger than that." She'd done some reading, preparing for the gorilla's arrival. "That being said, I imagine he's capable of quite a bit of damage – though he hasn't shown any signs of being violent in the past three hours."

Angela wasn't dumb. She knew the gorilla could _probably_ tear her to pieces in less time than it would take to subdue him. However, she wasn't willing to risk any of her researchers when she had protective gear that would give her an advantage in such a situation. She also truly didn't believe he posed a threat – currently. Taking in Dr. Winstons' notes on his particular case, she felt confident she would walk back out of that room in one piece.

"At least take me, a guard, somebody else with you, _someone_ that has a better gun than your blaster." His words reminded her of the uncomfortable weight at her hip; she wasn't foolish enough to walk in unarmed, but even she knew that it would do next to nothing against an enraged gorilla.

"I don't need him anxious; it will skew the results." Angela told him patiently. "You can wait in the hallways with the four _other_ armed guards." She stepped forward, into his personal space, and pressed her forehead against his chest, her free hand gripping his shirt at his back. "I know you're worried, but I'll be alright." His arms went around her, one above and the other below her wings.

"You had better be." She smiled, even though he can't see it. A throat cleared behind her and she jumped. Angela whirled, and it was a testament to his skills and reflexes that Gabriel avoided getting bludgeoned with her wings. Ana was standing in the hall, watching them bemusedly with one eyebrow quirked, and Angela's cheeks colored.

"I hope I'm not interrupting anything." The older woman broke the silence cheerfully, and Angela shook her head. She jumped again when Gabriel put his hand at the small of her back, but she didn't move away. "Good. I was coming to see how things were going with our guest." The blonde doctor, cheeks still red, cleared her throat awkwardly.

"I was, uhm, just heading there Ana. You're welcome to wait with Gabriel in the hall while I handle his interview and do some tests." She offered, and while she felt the man at her side tense at the reminder he didn't contradict her. Ana nodded, gently grabbing Angela's arm as she passed to pull the woman along; Angela glanced back worriedly at Gabriel. He was no help – he just held his hands up and followed a few steps afterwards.

"So, you and Gabriel, hmm?" Ana murmured conspiratorially, tucking her arm in the doctors'.

"You, ah," Angela coughed uncomfortably, "you're going to tell Jack, aren't you?" She said, defeated.

"Probably," Ana agreed, "but not right now." They continued the walk, Angela squirming in the silence. Just before they reached the door to Winston's room, Ana broke the silence again. "We will talk about this later. For now, be careful." The doctor nodded, resigned, before wiping her hands down her front self-consciously. She grabbed a tray containing various implements she would need from a nearby counter, then allowed Ana to open the door for her.

Her eyes immediately found Winston – it was impossible not to. She closed the door as he turned to look at her.

"Hello, Winston." She greeted, not moving from her spot at the door. "My name is Dr. Angela Ziegler." She watched him take in her outfit, eyes lingering briefly on the gun at her side, before returning to her face.

"Hello, doctor." He greeted.

"I feel obligated to tell you, Winston, that there are armed guards in the hallway, and as you can see, I am also armed." He wouldn't know that her aim was pretty terrible under the best of circumstances. She plastered a gentle smile on her face. "I am not saying this to threaten you, but to warn you. Tensions are high, as you may understand."

"I understand, doctor. The others of my kind have done terrible things, but I had no part in it." He assured her, leaning back to sit on the bed – there were no chairs in the room. Angela nodded, finally moving into the room. She set the tray on the bed – there weren't any other surfaces within – and turned to look at him.

"I'm sure you are familiar with some of these tools." Angela said, turning with a tourniquet in both hands. "Let me know if you have any questions."

* * *

She left the room, various specimens in containers on the tray. As expected, there were still six people in the hallway. She turned to her left, breezing past them to head towards the research labs. Angela heard footsteps following, but she didn't look to see whether it was Ana or Gabriel. Instead, she strode into the lab and reassigned two technicians to process the samples and to arrange someone to take Winston food. Without looking back, she made her way to her office, only looking up when she had the door open.

As expected, it was Ana. She had no idea where Gabriel had gotten to, but she wished he hadn't abandoned her to this conversation. Not that it would make this conversation any less awkward, but it would make her feel better. Angela sighed and started stripping off her Valkyrie suit.

"Yes, Ana?" She asked innocently, as the other woman closed the door.

"Is there anything you'd like to tell me?" Ana asked, lowering herself into a chair.

"Not particularly, no." Angela shot Ana a pointed look. "But if you're referring to Gabriel, then there's nothing to tell."

"What I saw didn't look like 'nothing', Angela." The woman relaxed back in her chair as Angela slid the suit onto its' stand, looking as if they were talking about the weather. Angela sighed and dropped into her chair.

"I didn't say it was _nothing."_ Whatever was between her and Gabriel, that was the absolute _last_ word she'd use. "I said there was nothing to tell." And there wasn't. It had barely been two weeks.

"Is that so?" Ana considered the blonde for a long moment, before sighing. "Are you at least being careful?" Angela felt her face heat up – even though she was a doctor and damn it she could talk about sex.

"I – _We_ – haven't-" she broke off, trying to compose herself. "We're not sleeping together." She managed to get out in a rush. Was _this_ what it was like to have a concerned mother? This _sucked._ Ana raised an eyebrow. _"We're_ _not_." The blonde insisted.

"I see." Ana looked the doctor over, taking in her embarrassment and discomfort, before nodding once, her face turning serious. "Don't do anything you'd regret, darling. And for goodness sake, don't let him bully you into doing anything you'd rather not." Angela gave the sniper an incredulous look.

"Have you ever heard us argue? If anyone is bullying anyone, it's me." Ana barked out a laugh. "I'll be fine, Ana." At least, she hoped she would be. "He wouldn't make me do anything I wouldn't want, but I appreciate your concern."

"If you need anything," Ana started, rising, "you can always come to me. Even about Gabriel." Ana grabbed the doorknob and glanced back. "Especially about Gabriel." Angela laughed, but stopped the woman before she left.

"Are you going to tell Jack?" The older woman nodded.

"I know how private you are, but we can't have a commander and our medical head… _together_ and _not_ tell Jack." She shrugged helplessly. "If it were anyone but Gabriel, Angela, I could keep it under my hat." Angela ran her hands over her face.

"I understand." And she did, even if it sucked. She knew it would come out eventually, but to have it out of her hands was uncomfortable. "Good night, Ana." The woman let herself out.

Angela sighed, staring at the door for a long moment before glancing around her office. She briefly considered doing research, but she knew without even attempting that she'd be too distracted. It was too late to consider going to get food – not that she was hungry anyway after that conversation – but too early to consider going to bed. She got up with a sigh – maybe she could burn off some steam in the gun range – and pulled open the door to find Gabriel on the other side. She crossed her arms and just _looked_ at him.

"What?" He demanded.

"You _abandoned_ me to Ana." She accused, pointing a finger at his chest to emphasize her point.

"You survived, didn't you?" He retorted, but he looked sheepish.

"She's telling Jack." Angela sighed, dropping her arms. He didn't even look surprised.

"I know." He ran a hand over his head. "I should go talk to him, too." Angela nodded. She knew that if she didn't go speak to Jack, he'd just come to her – but that didn't mean she was going to go seek him out. She'd let the other two talk to the blonde commander, and when he was ready she'd deal with it. "Where were you heading?" He asked, moving to the side to let her leave.

"I'm not sure." She admitted, closing the office. "I thought I'd go practice in the range; for some reason I can't focus on research." She headed towards the elevator, and he followed behind her.

"I can't imagine why." Gabriel deadpanned back, and she leaned against him as they waited for the elevator.


	12. Conflict

**Conflict**

* * *

She was in the lab, helping her researchers with processing the samples she'd gotten from Winston the day before. Everything was looking as well as they could be, though she knew it would be weeks more before the gorilla would be released from his confinement – just in case. While she wanted to make sure he was healthy, she also wanted to restart his gene therapy as quickly as possible – but that required a base of information they didn't yet possess.

"Dr. Ziegler." The woman sighed, but didn't turn around from her work. She hadn't heard his approach, but she wasn't surprised that he was here. Even though she was surrounded by witnesses, even though she _knew_ he'd just wait her out – or just start talking – she briefly considered ignoring him.

Resigned, she turned to look at Jack standing in the middle of her lab, as different as a robin among crows and gathering just as much attention.

"Hello, Commander." She considered him for a moment. "Did the others speak to you?"

"You know they did." Angela nodded. She'd avoided going to speak to Jack, instead forcing him to come to her; it wasn't as if she had done anything _wrong_. It hadn't delayed the inevitable – in fact, he'd started this much more publicly than she cared for. Carefully, she put aside the test tubes before pulling off gloves and goggles.

"We can talk in my office." She told him before heading for the exit, the commander hot on her heels. Fortunately, the trip was short, and soon he was closing the door behind him. "Go ahead and make yourself comfortable, Jack." She offered, resignation in her voice as she sat in her chair, and waited in silence for the shoe to drop.

"I'll cut to the chase, Angela." Jack fixed her with a pointed look. "I can't send you into the field with Gabriel again." She opened her mouth to argue, but he held up a hand. "It's not safe for anyone."

"I am _fully_ capable of doing my job, regardless of who I am… _involved_ with." Angela snapped. Jack raised an eyebrow.

"Alright, lets say I send you out with Gabriel," he offered, "and he gets shot." He gave her a look. "What do _you_ think would happen?" She paled at the thought, then colored – though whether it was from anger or shame even she couldn't tell.

"I would give him medical treatment – just like everyone else." Angela retorted, though her words _weren't_ quite as sure. She remembered, just as he surely did, what happened in Liechtenstein. "It's my job to worry about the health of the agents in my care."

"And if you get shot?" Jack countered. "When you _did_ get shot, Angela, Gabriel left that factory – and the others under his protection – to make sure you would be safe." Angela colored, her eyes dropping to her hands in her lap, which were clasped so tight it was nearly painful. "He should have sent another with you and remained behind, but he _didn't_."

"Angela," Jack's voice was gentle now, "we can't afford for _either_ of you to be distracted with the other on the field." Angela squirmed slightly, because she _knew_ he was right, damn him, but that didn't make the revelation any less upsetting. "It'll get someone – an agent or one of you – killed. It's happened before." He ran a hand through his hair, leaving the silent challenge – _do you want that to happen?_ – to hang in the air between them.

"Ana and I are perfectly capable of watching out for you." He reassured her after the silence became heavy, as if _that_ was the problem. She knew they would keep her safe, just as Gabriel would – but that wasn't the point, because they _weren't him_. Gabriel knew about her nightmares and how stubborn she could get under stress, which the others would surely figure out how to deal with, but the fact of the matter was that she just felt _safer_ with Gabriel at her back.

"I know." She muttered, leaning back in her seat with an exhale to stare at the ceiling, as if it was any more riveting than her hands. She _knew_ that Gabriel would do something stupid – like step between her and a bullet – again. She probably would do something stupid too; she wasn't too proud to admit it – at least to herself. He'd ordered her to stay back in Venezuela, and she couldn't say for sure if he'd have done the same with another medic. Yes, he _had_ made sure the _immediate_ hostiles were down, but she doubted he had waited much longer than that. He might – _would_ – get distracted, and _that_ could get him – her, someone else – killed, and she _couldn't_ live with that.

Her mind couldn't help but fly to that night in the hospital room. He'd even _admitted_ that he was trying to keep her safe – which she had already known – but realistically that couldn't happen when bullets were flying. He was one of two commanders, one of the leaders of Overwatch, and he had a duty to more than just her. He couldn't be trying to keep her out of the line of fire – even if that meant using himself as a shield – when others were counting on him; Jack and Ana would keep her safe, but not at the cost of everything else like Gabriel would.

"I don't like this." Angela said to the ceiling. Even as much as Jack was right, it didn't make her any happier. Gabriel had had her back from the beginning, and now it felt like she was abandoning him – or being abandoned.

"In this case, it doesn't matter what you like." She could feel his eyes on her. "I'm not going to let either of you get yourselves – or others – shot because _you_ don't like something." She huffed a laugh, despite herself, looking back at the man in her office.

"You're right, of course." Angela admitted, though it took longer for her to admit it out loud than necessary. "I agree; I won't go into the field with him." Jack nodded, and his shoulders relaxed – she hadn't realized he'd been tense. Then again, even _she_ knew she was argumentative – but where Gabriel fought based on emotion, Jack was using hard facts. It didn't help that she couldn't stand the thought of Gabriel getting killed because she was on the field. Or maybe she just _liked_ arguing with Gabriel.

"But," she held a finger up, and Jack tensed again, "if he comes into _my_ infirmary, I _will_ be putting him back together." It was a shameless abuse of authority – she _knew_ it was a conflict of interest, just as Jack surely did, but she couldn't, _wouldn't_ , let someone else do her work, not when she was the best Overwatch had – but Jack nodded anyway. She was surprised he didn't argue with her. He probably knew there wasn't any way that he could conceivably stop her, not when it came to the operation of her division. She _was_ capable of proper prioritization – she'd done it with Bianchi and she was _mostly_ positive she could do it again.

"Did you tell Gabriel? About me going in the field?" She asked after a long moment. They'd each made promises to the other, but it didn't mean anything when Jack was giving direct orders that countermanded them – as she'd clarified in her apartment so long ago, Jack's orders were absolute. She couldn't stay out of the field; they had found compromise with those promises, and she worried about the _next_ fight to come.

"I did." He confirmed, and she breathed a sigh of relief. At least she wouldn't have to break the news to him, but she knew there would be an argument about it. There was always an argument when it came to her safety.

"Do you need me for anything else?" She asked quietly. Angela had work to do and an argument to avoid, both of which would be best done away from this office. He shook his head and he rose, Angela following suit.

"You should eat something." Jack urged her as they exited the office; she imagined it was nearing noon, but after _that_ conversation she wasn't feeling up to doing anything but work. She shook her head.

"I'll eat later – I need to get back to work." She insisted, turning to do just that before he could drag her off to a canteen.

* * *

While she doubted it was necessary, she was wearing her Valkyrie suit and gun when she walked into Winston's' room.

"How are you feeling today, Winston?" She asked, setting the tray containing her tools on the bed near him. She glanced around the room, feeling a pang of guilt at the sparse conditions, before returning her gaze to the gorilla quickly – while she _believed_ it was safe, she shouldn't allow herself to take her eyes off him, not that it would do her much good if he decided to snap.

"I'm feeling fine, Dr. Ziegler." He responded – but really, what else did she expect? He wasn't going to complain, not when he was essentially a prisoner at their mercy. She glanced around the room again before pulling a pair of gloves on.

"Is there anything I could get for you?" She asked suddenly, surprising both of them. "I can't let you out," she said apologetically, "but I imagine you must be bored out of your mind." She knew that _she_ would be, at any rate. Angela picked up a syringe and turned to the gorilla – there was no point in an alcohol wipe due to the sheer amount of fur the creature possessed.

"I don't want you to get into any trouble, doctor." The gorilla told her kindly. She'd have corrected him, seeing how _she_ oversaw everything regarding him – except for the matter his imprisonment – it would be difficult for her to be in trouble with _herself_ , but she knew it would be foolish to be so trusting this early on. It was one of the reasons she didn't wear her badge or keys in the room.

"I will ask before I bring you anything," she assured Winston, before administering the shot. She was surprised at how easy it was, that he would just allow her to inject him without any explanation. "If it's something harmless I don't see that my boss will have any problems." Angela lied easily, setting the syringe aside and reaching for a second.

"Some books would be nice, then." He told her as she gave him the next shot. There was only one more left, and then she would need to leave – no need to make her guards antsy. "I particularly enjoy engineering and medical manuscripts." Angela considered the gorilla before her appraisingly.

"A scientist, are we?" Angela asked, raising an eyebrow. She didn't know why she was surprised, though. The gorilla had been a member of a research facility and had piloted what appeared to be a hand-made rocket from the moon to Earth. "I'll see what I can do." It may not be much – even _she_ could see how giving him access to information _might_ allow him to try to formulate some kind of escape, even though he appeared content to remain – but she would try to get him something.

"I appreciate it, doctor." Winston told her as she finished with the last shot. Angela pulled off her gloves and set them on the tray. It was time to go. She lifted it and turned away from the gorilla, careful not to hit him with the wings as she moved.

"One more thing, doctor." Angela glanced back from the door to regard him.

"Yes, Winston?" She asked cautiously.

"Do you think," he started hesitantly, and she suddenly worried that he was going to ask questions she wouldn't answer, not while he was a prisoner here. "Do you think I could get some peanut butter?" There was resignation in his voice, though Angela wasn't sure why. The question baffled her – it absolutely was _not_ what she expected him to ask.

"Peanut butter?" She repeated, as if she may have misheard. She didn't understand why he'd make a special request of it.

"Yes, doctor." He sighed. "The therapy has given me an addiction to it." She considered the gorilla, before deciding that – of all things – peanut butter wouldn't be a problem.

"I'll make sure you get some." She promised, before exiting the room. She'd have to return in a few hours to take another sample – make sure that the injections were affecting the right places – but until then she would look into his requests.

* * *

She had delivered two books, as well as paper and pen, to the gorilla when she'd returned to his room – she refused to think of it as a cell, though that was truly what it was, considering the armed guards at all hours. He'd been pleased, even though she couldn't provide him with a writing surface, and she was happy that she had been able to bring some sort of joy to him. Angela had also assured him that he would get peanut butter with his meals from now on.

She was backing out of his room, tray in hand, when Gabriel found her.

"How's the monkey?" He asked, disdain in his voice. She raised an eyebrow and started walking towards the lab.

"He's a _gorilla_ – and he has a name." Angela told him reproachfully as the man fell into step next to her. "It's too early to say for sure," the doctor continued cautiously, "but _Winston_ appears to be doing quite well."

"Just make sure you're careful." He ordered her gruffly. "I don't trust it." Angela rolled her eyes.

"Why do you think I'm dressed like this?" She asked. Angela felt like an idiot, walking through the halls of Overwatch in her Valkyrie suit instead of her medical coat and scrubs. The uniform was meant for combat, not whatever _this_ was. Maybe it wouldn't be so bad if she could detach the wings from the back, so she didn't look like she was trying to go to a Halloween party while she was working – or risk accidentally hitting someone if she turned too quickly. That definitely was going to be the next thing she looked into.

"I know." He sighed, and she felt his eyes run over her. "I've got to admit, though," he said quietly in an empty stretch of hallway, "it looks good on you." Angela glanced towards him sharply, blushing as she took in his intense look even as she preened at the compliment.

"What a coincidence," she teased back, ignoring her heated cheeks, "I wore it just for you." While it was true in theory – she was mostly wearing it because she _knew_ he'd throw a fit if she faced a genetically altered silverback gorilla without some sort of protection – she still felt a rush of pleasure at the look of shock that crossed his face when her words registered.

"Careful, doctor," his voice was low and rough, "you might give a man the wrong idea." She pulled open the door to the lab, glancing back towards him with mischief and desire in her eyes.

"If he sticks around long enough, maybe he'll get the right one." She ducked into the room, hoping her cheeks weren't too red – and if they were, maybe it would be mistaken for anger – as she deposited the tray for processing. After briefly poking around, she left the lab again to find Gabriel exactly where she left him, leaning against one wall, and raised an eyebrow.

"You're still here." She'd expected that, once she'd disappeared into the lab and he hadn't followed, he would be gone by the time she came back out.

"You told me to stick around." He told her, pushing off the wall to follow her towards her office. Since she wasn't planning on seeing Winston again today, she could take the Valkyrie suit off and get back into her scrubs, which meant she was making a stop in her office.

"I suppose you're right." She acknowledged with a chuckle, tucking her arm through his as they walked. They reached her office; Gabriel shut the door behind him while she started fumbling with the clasps of her suit.

" _Whoa!_ " Gabriel turned to the side quickly and her hands froze in place. "Angela, what are you doing?" He demanded hoarsely, and she colored suddenly as he realized what he _thought_ she was doing, even as she appreciated his attempt to respect her modesty.

"I have a catsuit on under this." She said, suddenly self-conscious, but she forced her hands to continue. She'd taken the suit off before Ana and a dozen of her researchers that had helped her tweak the equipment – Gabriel had even taken the suit _off_ her at one point – so she hadn't thought anything of it. "You can step out if you'd prefer." She offered, her eyes on the task at hand. Angela didn't hear him move and the door remained closed. After a moment, she could feel the weight of his eyes on her once more.

She finished unfastening the suit, slipping out of the gear to reveal a black catsuit hugging her form from neck to ankle. There was nothing special about it – it was only used to prevent the Valkyrie suit from chafing against her skin – but it left very little to the imagination, though the same could be said of the suit she'd just removed. Still, with Gabriel's reaction, she couldn't help but feel naked. Angela turned, still studiously ignoring the man in her office, to put the suit on its' stand. Her scrubs were folded on her desk, but before she could reach them Gabriel had crossed the room and wrapped his arms around her, pulling her back flush against his chest.

"Gabriel?" Angela gasped, startled, stiffening momentarily before relaxing in his hold and leaning against him contentedly.

"Did Jack talk to you?" Angela hesitated, but nodded just the same. There was no point in denying it – in fact, that would just cause more problems. She was more surprised that he'd bring it up _now_ , especially when they were having such a nice time. She also didn't like that she couldn't see his face – couldn't gauge his reactions – from the position she was in. "What did he say?"

"He told me that we can't go into the field together. It's too dangerous." She worried her lip. "I agreed." She winced a little, ducking her head as she said it. They had argued long and hard about her going into the field, and then she went and agreed with Jack that it was too dangerous.

"Jack's right." Gabriel admitted after a long beat of silence, surprising her. She wanted to turn to look at him, but his arms were firm around her waist. "If I wasn't being an idiot, I would have realized it too." Angela stayed silent, unsure of what to say. Instead, she opted to let him lead the conversation.

"You still plan to go into the field?" He asked quietly, and it made her heart hurt as her body tensed. They both knew the answer to the question, but she didn't want to vocalize it, make it real. Angela closed her eyes.

"Yes." Her voice was small, reluctant, but unwavering. "Jack and Ana will keep me safe." She continued in the growing silence. He hadn't released her, so she took that to be a good sign. "I'll be fine, Gabriel." Angela just wanted him to say something, _anything_ , to let her know what he was feeling, what he was thinking.

"I know you will." He muttered, arms tightening almost painfully around her. "I just worry about your safety." She smiled, even though she knew he couldn't see it, and lifted a hand to rest on top of his, clasped on her stomach.

"I'll survive. Just like you do." Angela assured. "Just trust me – trust _them_." She urged.

"I do." He affirmed. "It's the ones shooting at you I have a problem with." The doctor chuckled as he relaxed his arms – but only a little. "Promise me you'll be careful." He murmured into her hair.

"Of course." She agreed readily. "Contrary to your belief, I _don't_ want to get shot." Angela could feel his lips pull into a smile and relaxed. They weren't going to fight about this – _again_ – which was a relief.

"You are important to me, Angela." He continued, and she tightened her grip on his hands briefly – not much she could do to acknowledge him from this position without interrupting, and she didn't want to interrupt. " _Please_ don't put yourself in danger unnecessarily." They both knew she'd save anyone and everyone possible, regardless of the danger around her.

"I will try." She conceded, but they both knew the moment she was in the field all bets were off – it was how she'd gotten a bullet to the back in Venezuela, after all. He sighed, but he let it go. Instead, he loosened his grip on her, and she turned to look up at him. "I'll be careful, Gabriel." She raised her hand to lightly touch his scarred cheek.

"You'd better." His voice was rough but his hand was gentle as it covered hers. "I don't want to lose you." Suddenly, he dipped his head and captured her lips with his in a searing kiss, and her hand slid from his cheek to hook her arms around his neck. After a long, _long_ moment, he stepped back – but not before she felt his arousal.

"You should get dressed." He told her, turning away as she blushed. Quickly, she turned to grab her scrubs, pulling them over her catsuit before grabbing her white coat. She cleared her throat and, once he saw that she had the slightly-less revealing scrubs, he nodded. "Come on; we'll get dinner."

* * *

Now that she was free of her promise to Gabriel, that she had more opportunities to go into the field, one would assume that she would be leaving the base as often as possible. Promises notwithstanding, however, she had obligations that forced her to remain in Zürich – namely in the form of the gorilla scientist named Winston.

She had managed to argue his case and got him released from captivity after a month. If he were going to do something, she had said, wouldn't he have done it by now? He'd had a month to wreak havoc or attack her, and he'd been peaceful the entire time. They were still overly cautious around him – he still had a two-man armed escort everywhere he went – but he wasn't trapped in the room they'd set aside for him in the basement. Angela didn't blame them – there was still every chance that he might go as crazy as the other subjects still on the moon. He could do a lot of damage – but Angela didn't believe it would happen. If he hadn't gone crazy in the time it had taken him to reach Earth – without continued gene therapy – she doubted it would happen now.

Since he was rather intelligent, and no one wanted him learning combat skills, he was placed under her direction. He had been rather shocked to learn that she was a main player in Overwatch, but he'd gotten over it rather quickly. He was even more shocked when he found out that he was being allowed to work in her lab. The only caveat that the others had put to her was there were to be guards – and herself – present whenever he was in the lab. This was both to protect the other researchers as well as make sure he didn't get involved in something he shouldn't be – at least until they realized he wasn't a danger to anyone. The only exceptions to the rule was when she attended meetings; Winston could work without her for an hour or two.

That meant either she was stuck in the labs or he was trapped in his rooms, so she chose to remain in Zürich – hoping that _maybe_ if she waited it out they would allow him free reign, or at least allow him to work without her direct supervision. Aside from two trips to perform emergency surgery for agents, she remained in the Overwatch headquarters.

Once they got over their trepidation – and the shock of having armed guards in the lab – the other researchers worked relatively well with the gorilla, mostly. Some had to be discreetly reassigned elsewhere, but Angela considered her efforts to be mostly successful.

She had assigned him to work directly under her, researching how to replace a body with omnic parts. She had him working on the theory, while she headed up the actual experimentation – even she wasn't willing to allow him such a crucial part of her research. Partially it was a matter of trust and partially it was a matter of control.

"An- Dr. Ziegler." Angela, bent over to lean on the desk Winston was working at, glanced over one shoulder. Gabriel was striding across the lab, looking surprised, and she straightened. Her eyes darted past him towards the clock, where she realized it was after one.

"Commander." The doctor greeted from her position at the gorilla's side. Angela hadn't realized how late it had gotten – per the usual – but what made it even more disconcerting was that she wasn't the only one in the lab. It threw off their routine, but not for long.

"It's after one, doctor. You need to wrap it up." He told her tightly, his eyes hard as he took in the gorilla at her side. Gabriel was the strongest voice against Winston, while she was the gorillas' champion. While _she_ didn't have a problem with Winston working as late as she was available – because let's face it, she'd be there anyway – Gabriel obviously did, though he _was_ trying to be polite by waiting to lecture her for it until after the gorilla was gone. Angela sighed.

"Winston, we'll have to continue tomorrow." The doctor turned to look at the gorilla at her side. "Commander Reyes gets _pretty_ bossy when we keep late hours." Specifically when _she_ kept late hours, but that wasn't something Winston needed to know about.

"Yes, Dr. Ziegler," Winston acknowledged, ignoring the fact that Gabriel hadn't said a word to him, large hands moving to put things away. Angela brushed past him to her own desk, where she tucked her own notes into their homes before looking back on the now-rising gorilla.

"Good work today, Winston." Angela told him warmly as he passed between her and Gabriel. "I'll see you in the morning." She made to follow the gorilla out, but Gabriel stepped in front of her, cutting her off silently, though she _was_ supposed to be heading to her rooms.

"Good night, doctor." He called over one shoulder, his guards moving to flank him as he left the lab. The door shut behind them with a quiet _click_. Angela put her hands on her hips and looked up at him.

"I thought you told me to go to bed." Angela told him, raising one eyebrow.

"Why was the gorilla still here?" He demanded, crossing his arms. The doctor rolled her eyes.

"He was helping me with my work. You may recall that he was placed under my supervision." Angela reminded him, her voice overly patient.

"At one in the morning?" He retorted.

"So it's okay for _me_ to be in the lab at one, but no one else?" Angela knew he didn't like her staying up late – which was fair because she let her health take a backseat to her work – but he'd never seemed to have an issue with anyone else. Then again, no one else had stayed late with her in the time she'd been here.

" _You_ shouldn't be here either." He sighed. "You know I don't trust it. You're not even in your Valkyrie suit." Angela had stopped wearing the suit two weeks ago – not that he knew that – because she didn't believe that Winston was a danger.

"I'm not going to walk around _my_ lab in a combat suit." Angela informed him. "He's not a danger to anyone; in fact, he's been extremely helpful in my research." She knew that Gabriel was coming from a good place, but he'd smother her if she let him.

"You don't know that." Gabriel told her, and she shook her head. They'd gone over this a hundred times – both in private and in the command room; repeating herself now wouldn't change anything.

"We're not arguing about this again." She responded firmly, and after a long moment he threw his arms in the air and headed for the door. Angela just sighed and followed after him, flipping the lights off as she went. He was silent as they waited for the elevator, and she looked him over before bumping his arm with her own.

"Pouting doesn't become you, Gabriel." Angela teased.

"I'm _not_ pouting." He growled back, and she laughed. He absolutely _was_ pouting, but she wasn't going to needle him any further on it. Once they were on the elevator, she tucked one arm through his and leaned against him, studiously ignoring his grumpiness towards her. Eventually he sighed.

"I wanted to talk to you." His voice was unusually serious – especially for a late night meeting like this – and it drew her eyes upwards. "Have you read the KIA reports from today?"

"I read the ones from before ten this morning." Angela told him. With her needing to be in the lab with Winston, she'd taken to reading the reports in the mornings to make it easier to facilitate her needs. With Gloria maintaining the infirmary and very few injuries requiring her attention, she'd remained focused in the research lab. "Why?" Trepidation crept into her voice. "What happened?"

She _knew_ that Jack and Ana were fine – neither were out in the field, and even if they had been Gabriel would have found her immediately. While she felt fiercely protective over her people – all of the agents, really – he'd never felt the need to seek her out because of them, even though they both knew she read all of them. It must be fairly awful – did one of their teams get wiped out? They'd never lost an entire squad before, not while she was a member of Overwatch at any rate, and maybe he was trying to soften the blow?

"Commander Bianchi's dead." He reported quietly, ripping the bandage off. Angela gasped, clutching his arm tightly in shock. She'd cleared him for fieldwork again just a few months ago, after he'd _finally_ gotten the hang of his new legs. He'd been the biggest thorn in her side, complaining about how long she was taking about letting him do his job. She was certain he'd never forgiven her for cutting his legs off, even if it _had_ been the only thing to do. Now she'd never know if he'd have forgiven her – he was a cantankerous man, so maybe not – because he was dead.

"What happened?" She asked through numb lips, even though she had a decent idea.

"What happens to agents in the field?" Gabriel asked rhetorically, humorlessly. "He got shot and he didn't get back up." Angela nodded. Yet another name, another face, to drive her, to haunt her. The doors opened and they were silent as they walked to her room, where she let them both in. This conversation was too private – too confidential – to talk about in the hallway, even if it _was_ nearly two in the morning.

"What happens to Blackwatch?" Angela asked, voice hushed, once they were settled next to each other on the couch.

"We – Overwatch and the UN – are looking for a replacement." He draped an arm across the back of the couch behind her, and she leaned against him contentedly. "That's all I can tell you about it, though." He told her, and she nodded. She'd have known about his death – her job required her to know, or at the very least be familiar with, all the medical information for Overwatch and its shadowy counterpart Blackwatch – but what came after was not her business.

Sometimes, on late nights like these, they talked or kissed – or both – until Gabriel sent himself away. Tonight, though, they stayed curled up in silence, the air heavy with yet another death.


	13. Dissention

**Dissention**

* * *

Here you go my lovelies! Let me know what you think by hitting that "review" button - it doesn't have to be much, just whether you liked it or not!

I also wanted to let you guys know that I am going on vacation on 7/7/17 and will not return until 7/16/17. I hope to get one more post up before I go, but if that doesn't happen I didn't want you to worry!

EDIT: I didn't realize there was a formatting error, causing random large-blocks of text to be italicized as well as breaks between story sections (shown with -s) to not show up. I've fixed this through all chapters and will endeavor to ensure it does not happen in the future. Sorry about any reading confusion you may have had!

* * *

It had been two days since Bianchi's death. She'd read the report – fortunately void of pictures – and forced herself to get back to work. As far as she knew, they hadn't yet replaced him – but then again she wasn't sure that she'd be told. Eventually she'd determine who the new Commander was, if only because his – or her – file would cross her desk at some point.

"No, look, you need-" Angela was leaned over the desk of one of her researchers, explaining where their math had gone wrong, when a resounding _crash!_ interrupted her – interrupted _everyone_ , as the lab went deathly silent as the sound echoed through the room. Angela straightened and whirled around even as she heard the guns _clack_ as the guards prepared them for firing. That sound alone told her Winston was involved, even before she saw the gorilla surrounded by the remains of a desk and various glass instruments.

It was obvious – even to her, who hadn't been watching the gorilla with hawk-like intensity – that it wasn't purposeful. As she'd told Winston, tensions were high – but _this_ was ridiculous. He'd been with Overwatch for over a month; they should be past this by now. Then again, he'd only been free for a little over a week. Still, instead of helping the gorilla, who was bleeding from his jarring introduction with the desk, everyone was acting like he was about to rip off someones' arm.

"Get out." She barked at the guards, striding between their guns and the gorilla that had – fortunately – remained still to avoid being filled with bullets. Angela noticed vaguely – courtesy of her combat training – that the rest of the researchers had pressed against their desks or the wall, trying to avoid the violence threatened by the soldiers.

There was tension in the air, and Angela knew that the smallest thing could set them off; so, instead, she drew their attention and ire on herself. She was _Dr. Zielger_ , and she was willing to bet her life that Gabriel had ordered these fools to keep her, _specifically_ , safe from the gorilla he didn't trust, and as such they _probably_ wouldn't shoot her.

"We have orders-" One began, and she glared at him as she came to stop a short distance away from them, fully blocking their guns from Winstons' much larger frame. They could step around her, of course, but it made their jobs just a _little_ harder.

"I have just _changed_ your orders." Angela said firmly, both hands coming to rest on her hips. "You will leave this lab _immediately._ " She wasn't quite certain she had the right to order the two men around – she had no authority over agents that weren't injured – but she didn't allow her voice to falter. This floor was _hers_ and she was _tired_ of the guns in her lab. Instead of helping the gorilla, who was _probably_ injured, she had to deal with these morons, and she was _done_.

"Will all due respect, ma'am, we answer to Command-" The blonde doctor cut them off fiercely, ignoring the guns that were _still_ aimed at her chest; her mind flashed back to the _last_ time guns were pointed at her, but she forced the panic down and away. She prayed that Winston remained still behind her, because if they decided he was a threat they might just shoot her to nullify whatever threat they thought he posed. She _really_ didn't want to get shot again, especially in her own lab.

"Last I checked, _I_ am in charge of this lab, not the Commander." Angela corrected the man sharply, and she heard a gasp from somewhere behind her. Angela knew she was playing with fire, but that didn't change anything: she refused to allow her lab to turn into a shooting gallery due to an idiotic pissing match. It didn't matter if the order came from Jack himself; these men were leaving, _now_.

"You may report to _him_ with your new orders." She had no doubt of which Commander the men were referring to. "If he has a problem with it, he can take it up with me _himself_." Angela raised one hand to point at the door; only years of medical practice kept it from shaking from the stress of having two _very_ dangerous weapons loaded and pointed at her chest. Her heart was hammering in her chest, but she was well practiced at forcing herself to do things she probably shouldn't, regardless of how comfortable they were. " _Out_."

She held her breath as the men stared at her for a long moment, and she wondered if they would obey – or step around her to shoot Winston. Finally, they relaxed their hold and flipped the safety back on.

"Ma'am." One nodded stiffy towards her in, what Angela assumed was, respect, and both filed out the door. Angela stood frozen in place, heart pounding and roaring in her ears, as she listened to their boots fade away down the hallway. Then, once she was in control of herself once more, she turned back towards Winston, who was still in the ruins of a table. Ignoring the looks of shock and awe around her – she'd just thrown a gauntlet down, hadn't she? – she strode to her injured scientist, kneeling carefully in the mess.

She knew there would be repercussions for this later. She had, quite publicly, gone against a direct order from one of the Commanders that was in charge of _all_ of them – her included. Whether the order came from Jack or Gabriel made no difference, not in the long run; she'd defied an order, and there would be a punishment. Still, Angela couldn't – _wouldn't_ – worry about that just now, or the reprimand that would swiftly come. Those men would go directly to the Commander – while she was almost _certain_ it was Gabriel, there was a decent chance it could be Jack – and then she'd have to deal with _that_.

"Where are you hurt?" Angela asked, eyes lighting on the blood that dotted the white floor. She glanced to her left and right at the researchers that were milling about hesitantly. "Don't just stand around; this isn't going to clean itself." Angela kept herself from snapping – she wasn't angry with _them_ – but it was a near thing.

"It's, uh, just my hands, doctor." Winston assured her cautiously, showing the woman the cuts on his hands. She looked them over with practiced eyes, nodding.

"Can you get up? I'll need to clean them." Her eyes looked over the glass that was in the disaster around her. "I'll also need to make sure you don't get sick from whatever was in those." The gorilla nodded before carefully hefting himself up without using his hands. Gingerly, he escaped the mess he'd made without cutting up his feet, and Angela rose.

"I'm taking Winston to the infirmary." She announced to the room, mostly so they knew where to direct the Commander when he came blazing in here. "I expect this," she waved her hand at the desk and glass, "to be properly taken care of by the time I return." Murmurs of assent followed her out the door as she led the gorilla – who was walking awkwardly without the use of his hands – away.

"You shouldn't have done that, doctor." The gorilla told her quietly as they ambled down the hallway. The distance seemed much longer today – either a result of their slow walking speed or the anger-induced adrenaline that was still rushing through her.

"You're probably right." Angela agreed easily. "But it still needed to be done." She didn't need any of her staff – to include the gorilla, even _if_ some of the others held him in contempt – to be shot due to prejudice or itchy trigger fingers. It would have been one matter entirely if Winston had appeared violent – or if he'd actually _done_ something in the lab just now to warrant having a gun drawn – but he wasn't and he hadn't.

"I'll face the consequences," she assured the gorilla, "but _you_ will be fine." Winston was hers, just as everyone else in Overwatch – scientist, agent, or Commander – was, and she would be _damned_ before he was caught in the crossfire when she could – would, _had_ – shield him.

* * *

She healed Winston's hands and gave him two shots to ensure that he didn't get sick from the chemicals that might have gotten inside him from the glass, then escorted him back to the lab. She'd given him strict orders to inform her if _anything_ felt wrong in the next seventy-two hours, no matter when it was.

Angela was honestly surprised that she'd been left in peace for as long as they had been. She found the lab cleaned and Commander-free – another surprise. She made sure everyone was back to work on their various tasks before returning to her desk. Angela wanted to go camp out in her office – easier to keep her scolding private – but she didn't want to throw gasoline on the fire by leaving Winston _totally_ unchaperoned.

However, the biggest surprise of all was when it was Ana that came to collect Angela ten minutes later – bringing two guards to leave in the room with Winston. Neither woman said anything; Angela merely rose when the Captain entered and followed her out and to her office. The two women sat, and Angela fought not to squirm under Ana's assessing gaze. Angela wondered why she'd gotten the Captain as opposed to one of the Commanders, but knew better than to ask questions at this point.

"Why don't you tell me what happened?" Ana finally broke the silence.

"I was helping a researcher when there was a crash in the lab behind me." She told the woman, leaning back in her chair and clasping her hands in her lap. "By the time I'd turned around, your agents had their guns drawn and ready to fire on Winston. It was obvious that he'd tripped and fallen – breaking a table and several specimens – and that the soldiers were overreacting." The words poured out of her in a rush. "So, I stepped between Winston and their guns and told them to leave."

It hadn't been as simple as all that, but it was a fairly succinct explanation for what had happened. She didn't recount how angry it had made her, to see the guns drawn on one of her scientists – even if it _was_ Winston, the current point of contention between her and her superiors. She didn't tell the captain how terrified it had made her, staring down the agents at the end of their guns. She didn't voice her desperate hope that they wouldn't fill her with bullets instead. How she felt didn't matter – not in this; what mattered was that she ordered two agents out of her lab when they had been placed there by the only people that outranked her.

"You stepped in front of their guns?" Ana raised an eyebrow, tone incredulous. Angela doubted for a single second that Ana was unaware of what went down in the lab, but she nodded just the same. "And why, Angela, did you think that was a good idea?"

She _hadn't_ thought – she had just moved, her first instinct to protect those around her – Winston and the other researchers both – from the guns, even if everyone – even the agents with the guns – were on the same side, whether they knew it or not. By the time she realized it _probably_ was a bad idea, that they were fully prepared to shoot, she was already standing in front of the guns and at _their_ mercy, rather than the other way around.

"It was the right thing to do." Angela said, after a long moment of thought. Ana just waited patiently for an explanation, and she made a helpless gesture with her hands. "They were going to _shoot_ him, Ana." Obviously, Angela, they'd had their guns drawn. "He didn't do anything wrong." She found herself insisting.

"It isn't up to you to decide whether the gorilla – _Winston_ – did anything wrong." Ana reminded her patiently. "Those guards are as much for his protection as they are yours." Angela choked on a derisive laugh.

" _His_ protection? He is a prisoner here; he _has_ no protection, not from your agents." She had been his only shield here in Overwatch; she was too compassionate by far, she knew, and yet she couldn't help herself. If he'd come off that rocket swinging, tearing through their men or if he'd destroyed her research lab the moment he'd been set free, she could understand. But instead, he'd submitted to their demands and the guns without complaint; he'd _let_ her inject him with a number of medications, any one of which could have been used to kill him.

"If he were a prisoner, Angela, he'd still be locked up." Ana told her carefully, and Angela wanted to call her a liar – but she didn't. "But he has only been with us a short time. We must be cautious – especially when he can do so much damage." The doctor knew that – she'd read the reports, seen what little footage was available that showed _exactly_ what the gorillas of Horizon were capable of, long before Winston had landed on this planet.

That didn't change the fact that Winston had been regarded differently, even on the lunar base. He'd responded better than the others, and there was no sign that he'd been a part of the attack – not in the few clips recovered or even in the logs leading up to the tragedy. Coupled with his absolute passivity being here, there was _no_ reason to keep him a prisoner.

"The three of you gave him to me." Angela said quietly in the silence, voice firm. "He is _mine_ , under my jurisdiction and under my protection." Here she was on my solid ground; while she wasn't quite certain of where her authority ended, on this it was clear. Any medical staff – researchers like Winston included – were hers; she had it in writing somewhere in her rooms, from the contracts and paperwork she'd signed so long ago. "I will not have your agents threatening _my_ staff."

"Careful, Angela." Ana cautioned, leaning forward. "This is not your infirmary. You still answer to us." Because they were the leaders of Overwatch, the only three that could overturn any of her decisions – though it had never happened. They mostly left her to her own devices – unless it was two in the morning or she wasn't eating, at any rate – and made sure she had the supplies necessary to do her job and do it well.

Then again, she'd never directly challenged any of their orders. She'd never needed to.

"And when one of my people gets _shot_?" She challenged. "I was _lucky_ they didn't get jumpy and shoot me _this_ time, but what about next time?" Angela didn't want there to be a next time – she did not want another set of guards in her lab. Her researchers would be distracted with them after this, which meant that she'd have to keep Winston away for a few days; she would have to punish one of her more promising scientists because two idiots decided to make a big deal out of nothing.

"Winston has done _nothing_ wrong. He has allowed us to confine him and inject him with whatever we'd like. He has not hurt _anyone_. He moves carefully and measures each action before he takes it, because he _knows_ there are idiot soldiers with itchy trigger fingers." Angela was ranting now, angry at the injustice the gorilla was facing. She knew she should curb her tongue – Ana was _not_ Gabriel, even if she was particularly forgiving.

"He is intelligent and has, in the short time I've had him, been an enormous help in the lab. He does not deserve to be threatened with violence when he _stumbles_." She took a breath. "My staff do not need to worry if they will be _shot_ if they show up to work." She'd removed the scientists that had the biggest problem with the gorilla, but more would crop up if the lab began to be viewed as dangerous.

None of her researchers were cleared for combat – nor did most of them want to be. Today was probably the first time they'd seen a gun pointed at something – _someone_ – outside of a movie or television show. She could not afford to step in front of a gun every time there was a misunderstanding. The stress – or an _actual_ bullet – would kill her. The doctor bit her tongue before she continued and said something she truly _would_ regret.

"The easiest solution would be to confine him again." Ana informed her, as if that was truly a solution. Angela just gave her a _look_.

"Just because it is _easy_ does not make it _right_." The doctor snapped, crossing her arms. She'd forced herself to remain in Zürich, both so that she could keep an eye on his gene therapy and so that she could be his advocate to the others. Then, once he was released, she decided to remain home until they would allow him to work without her direct supervision.

"And if he hurts one of your staff, Angela?" Ana demanded in return, shifting her weight in her chair. "He could easily tear through your lab; we both know that none of your people would stand a chance against him." Angela knew that – it was why she'd worn the Valkyrie suit around him when they first brought him in; it gave her a better chance.

"He could have lost it today, when he was bleeding and hurt on the ground with _guns_ pointed at him, but he _didn't_." Angela insisted. "He remained still and calm, even after the guards were gone. He doesn't deserve to be punished." She'd argued this so often that she _knew_ she was repeating herself; even if the situation was different, the words were nearly the same. Angela threw her hands up with a disgusted noise.

"You already know all of this; I don't know why we're going through it all again. You have already made up your mind – you and the Commanders." Whatever the decision was, Angela was sure to dislike it. "So, please, tell me what my punishment is to be. I have work to do." Ana sighed and leaned back in the chair.

"It is hard to punish you, Angela; as you know, you are invaluable to us here. We can't just suspend you – it would be detrimental to Overwatch's needs." She knew the best way to punish her was to force her into inaction – but even as she thought it she knew that it would be a foolish waste of her time and talents.

"Gabriel would have us punish Winston instead by confining him to his room and doubling the guards." Angela opened her mouth to argue again, but Ana cut her off with a wave of her hand. "Jack and I disagreed. As you said, it is wrong to punish someone who did nothing wrong." Ana raised an eyebrow at the blonde doctor. "However, you _did_ do something wrong. Which begs the question: how should we punish you?"

"We can't force you to remain in Zürich, not when your skills could save lives in the operating room or in the field, and we can't keep you out of the lab, not when you are the reason we have had so many advances. It's quite the conundrum, really – without being able to suspend or demote you, we are left with very few options." Ana told her, and Angela nodded slowly; her skills were invaluable as she applied them.

"Winston will be assigned two new guards, who will escort him and stand guard in the lab. They have strict orders; you will not interfere with them." Angela didn't like it, even as she knew it was inevitable. They couldn't be seen kowtowing to her, not after the stunt she had pulled.

"For the next four months – unless you are in the field or in surgery – you will not work outside of the hours of eight in the morning and eight in the evening. The guards will ensure you comply." Ana spread her hands before her. "It lacks substance, I know, but you have to admit that it is a perfect punishment for you when you consider the hours you prefer to keep." Angela already hated it – some of her best work was done at night, when everyone was gone – but she could recognize and admit that it was an odd punishment, even if it was specifically tailored to her.

"Many will believe you were let off lightly." Ana met Angela's eyes. "And it would be a fair statement. With this limitation to your work is a warning. We do not wish to lose you, Angela, but we cannot have you publicly undermining us. You may argue with us in private, but you _will_ follow orders in public." Her tone was firm. "If it is for the good of Overwatch, we _will_ remove you." Angela's heart nearly stopped; she couldn't imagine losing her place here in Overwatch. Funny how she had, at one point, hated the thought of joining them and now she could hardly stand the thought of losing them. "Do you understand me?" The doctor bowed her head.

"I understand, Captain." Calling her Ana in this moment felt wrong.

"We don't want to let you go, Angela." Ana told her in the silence that followed. "Do not force our hands."

* * *

Eight in the evening came much too soon. She had no idea what she was going to do for the next twelve hours – for the next four _months_. She bid goodnight to the guards – who made sure she got on the elevator – and to Winston – who was being escorted by the guards. The elevator doors slid shut before she made a choice of floor; did she want to go to the canteen or did she want to hole up in her room?

Her work was her life; the last time she'd had this much time off was when she was in high school. Even then, she could research topics that interested her; she was fairly certain that would be considered work, and she needed to toe the line for at _least_ a week or two before trying to get away with something like that. She didn't watch television – she didn't even _own_ a television – and most of her reading was done for work; burying herself in her work – even before Overwatch – made it easy to avoid hobbies. It made it easier to avoid casual social situations, too. Her first friends had come with Overwatch, but they were the ones who she was fighting with; she wasn't quite sure how to manage that.

She decided that she should eat – she hadn't eaten breakfast (as usual) or lunch (due to stress and a limited workday) – and went to the canteen. It was deserted – dinner had ended over an hour ago, but there was always something to put together. She made herself a sandwich, and as soon as she was finished eating it she took herself up to her rooms.

Angela was surprised to find Gabriel leaned against the wall outside her room. She paused as she stepped out of the elevator – she wasn't certain if he was going to lecture her or not – but there was nowhere else for her to go. He had looked up when the elevator opened and looked her over critically.

"Where have you been?" He asked; a glance at the watch on her wrist revealed it was a quarter to nine.

"I got something to eat." She imagined he thought she was breaking their rules; she wasn't so foolish to try to do so on the first day of her punishment, even if it did chafe.

"Come on." He pushed off from the wall and headed further down the hall, to where she knew his room was. She hesitated briefly, but followed him down the hall.

"What are we doing?" She asked as he pushed the door open. She'd never been in his rooms before – they'd always curled up on her couch in the evenings. Late nights were not conducive to long winded meetings of any sort, not when she went to work so early, so it never had been an issue before.

"We're watching a movie." He told her, as if it had already been agreed upon as opposed to something she just found out. "Make yourself at home." Still, it wasn't like she had anything better to do, so she walked inside. He followed her in, allowing the door to swing shut behind them.

His rooms were set up in the same layout hers were – she imagined all of the rooms on this floor had the same floorplan. His boasted a single couch and coffee table, placed before the television she assumed they would be watching. His guns – and what looked to be cleaning cloths – as well as other combat gear sat neatly on a table against the far wall. It was tidy, as hers was – she wondered if it was because he spent as little time in it as she did her own or if he was naturally neat. The two doors that she knew led to a bedroom and a bathroom – like in her own rooms – were closed.

She curled up on one side of the couch as he grabbed the controller. Before he turned the television on, he looked her over once more.

"Do you want to talk about what happened today?" His tone was carefully neutral, and she wasn't certain if _he_ wanted to talk about it. She knew he didn't like Winston, and probably liked even less that she's gotten herself into trouble over him. Angela worried her lip, and decided that she really didn't want to talk about today – not right now – and shook her head. Between the guns and Ana, she'd had enough fighting today.

He dropped onto the couch next to her and flipped on an action movie that, after her own time in the field, seemed rather anticlimactic. She curled up against him, her head resting where his shoulder and chest met, and his arm wrapped around her, his hand coming to rest on her hip. He was rather vocal towards the television – berating bad decisions and muttering directions as if they could hear him – but she could tell he was enjoying himself.

"What did you think?" He asked, as the credits started to roll. She glanced up towards him with a small smile.

"You're very noisy." She teased. "But it was a good movie, I guess."

"You guess?" If she wasn't pressed against him she would have shrugged.

"I don't watch many movies, Gabriel. It was a bit over dramatic at times and the logic behind some of their actions was flawed, but I guess that's alright." He laughed.

"You're not supposed to be analyzing the movie, Angela. You're supposed to enjoy it." He grabbed the remote to change the movie.

"Says the man who was barking orders the entire time." Angela poked him in the chest.

"Yes, well." He selected something and the screen went quiet as it loaded. "Old habits die hard, I guess."

While it was late when the second movie ended, it was nowhere near the hours she was used to keeping. She expected him to start another or send her on her way, but instead he let the credits roll. Angela glanced up, wondering if maybe he'd fallen asleep, to find him staring blankly at the screen.

"Gabriel…?" She asked carefully. "Are you alright?" He blinked and looked down at her.

"Yeah, I'm alright." He assured her, his free hand running over his head. "I just-" He cut himself off and shook his head and sighed. "It doesn't matter."

"Are you sure?" She wondered if it was about today, and while _she_ didn't really want to argue about it, they could talk about it if that was what he wanted. "We can talk about it."

"No, it's fine." His jaw was set; whatever it was – and she was willing to bet it was her stunt in the lab – was bothering him. "I'll tell you later." The arm around her tightened briefly, and she allowed herself to be pressed more firmly against him. "It can wait."

"Alright." She told him, shifting into a more comfortable position against him. "What's next?"

* * *

"It's getting late." He murmured after the third movie, and she nodded. He was right; she should head to bed and let him get some sleep. She carefully pushed away from him and stretched, a big motion pulling both arms up and over her head as he flipped the television off.

"I should go." She responded once her stretch was done. Her eyes found her watch, it was well after two – which surprised her, as she hadn't expected to be up late during her punishment. Then again, until her sleep schedule regulated to match, she'd probably be up late anyways. Angela rose to her feet.

"You could stay." The offer was so quiet she thought she'd imagined it. But, when she turned to look back at him with red cheeks, his eyes met hers resolutely.

"I, ah, Gabriel-" She stammered uselessly, embarrassed as her cheeks grew warm.

"I'm not asking for sex, Angela." He sighed, and she wondered about the unhappy sound. Before she could question it, he continued, eyes dropping to his hands. "I was just… It's fine, you don't have to stay if you don't want to." Angela made a frustrated sound.

"I don't know what it is you want to know if _I_ want _anything_." Once again she lamented her lack of social grace and knowledge of societal norms. If she wasn't who she was – brilliant and driven and an innovative genius – she'd have a better understanding, but then she'd never have made it to Overwatch to begin with. It made her feel foolish and unworthy of the attention he'd bestowed upon her, when she had no idea how to determine what was wanted and what actions should be taken.

"I just want to sleep, Angela." He was no help either; a man of actions rather than words, getting anything out of him was like getting blood from a stone. Oh, she knew he was trying to help her, that he understood that she was honestly floundering most days, but that didn't make him any less recalcitrant.

"With me?" The words were hesitant – even she knew the colloquialism behind that word. He'd said he wasn't looking for sex, and she believed him. He hadn't lied to her, not as far as she could tell at any rate.

"I just," he sighed, and she could almost imagine his thoughts – of how foolish she was, of how he hated that he had to spell it out, "I just want to hold you; is that alright?" His words were gentle, and she could hear real longing – and something else? she couldn't tell – in his voice.

"Just sleep?" She repeated, as if she didn't believe him – which she did, just she felt the need to fill the silence with some sort of sound.

"Yes, Angela." The words were patient. He was careful at not pushing her too far, to reach _just_ outside of where her current comfort zone was and gently tugging her along. She nodded slowly, licking dry lips nervously.

"Alright." Since the night they'd changed the nature of their relationship, they'd never slept in the same room; she knew, logically, that it was _just_ sleep, that she'd slept next to him before – even on him, once – but it felt different. She glanced down at herself; she was wearing her scrubs, and while they weren't her first choice of sleepwear they were comfortable enough.

"You can borrow something of mine, if you'd prefer." He offered, seeing where her eyes went. His hands moved up, palms out towards her. "Or you can stay in that. Up to you."

"I'd appreciate that." She replied awkwardly, and he nodded and rose, striding towards the bedroom without looking back. Angela stood uncertainly in the room, knowing she should follow – he'd expressly asked her to stay, and that indicated an invitation into his bedroom.

"Are you coming?" He asked carefully, poking his head back out to regard her. She nodded and managed to get her feet to take her across the room – it was just like hers, only not. The bed was made and there wasn't any sign of clutter or clothes. He handed her a bundle of cloth and pushed her towards the bathroom – which was just as tidy as the rest of the room.

She pulled the scrubs off and folded them, leaving underwear in place, and pulled his shirt – comically large on her thin frame – and shorts on, tightening the drawstring to keep them on her. She lamented not having a toothbrush, but helped herself to his mouthwash and washed her face. A sharp knock had her jumping.

"You okay in there?" Angela pulled the door open.

"Sorry." She gathered her scrubs and stepped out of the room.

"It's fine. I'll be there in a few; make yourself comfortable." She nodded and, once she made it to the bed, he closed the door and sent the room into darkness. Angela placed her clothing on the nightstand – having nowhere else suitable to put it – and sat on the edge of the bed uncertainly. When he emerged several minutes later, she was still sitting on the edge.

"You don't have to stay, Angela." He told her tiredly. He was wearing a t-shirt and shorts, but something about the way he was standing made Angela feel like it wasn't his normal sleeping attire.

"No, I want to." She insisted. Angela was just worried about screwing up… something. She wasn't really sure what. "I was just waiting for you." He flipped the light off and made his way to the bed easily. It bounced under his weight as he settled, and she turned to look at his dark silhouette. Carefully – with considerably less bouncing – she crawled under the blanket, worried that she'd bother him and then feeling like an idiot because he'd _asked_ her to stay so why would he be bothered? Slightly emboldened – partially by the knowledge that he wanted her to stay and partially by the darkness that hid her flushed cheeks – she shifted until she was just next to him, hesitating momentarily about invading his space.

"Come here." He mumbled, arm shifting and making space for her at his side. She curled up, just like she would on a couch, head on his shoulder and his arm came around to rest on her hip. Angela wasn't sure where to put her arm, but finally she settled for resting her hand on his sternum.

She was certain her heart was going to beat out of her ribs. She was even _more_ certain that he could feel it from where her chest pressed against her side.

"Relax. Sleep." He rumbled, sleep roughing his voice.

She did sleep eventually, but it wasn't until his breathing had slowed and his body relaxed in slumber.

* * *

His alarm was _probably_ the most annoying sound she'd ever heard. She groaned and rolled onto one side as he pulled away to turn the noise off.

"Morning." He said, flopping onto his back once more.

"What time is it?" She asked, one hand reaching up to rub her eyes as the other covered her mouth as she yawned. If it weren't for her punishment she could laze or sleep in, but being forced to start and stop work at certain hours required that she get down to the lab as soon as she was allowed.

"Little after seven." He rolled over and threw an arm over her waist, lips pressing to the top of her head briefly. She smiled at the gesture – all her anxiety from the night before was gone; now that it was over she just felt foolish – before sighing.

"I have to go. I need to get to the lab." He knew the limitations of her punishment, just as the other three did. That didn't stop him from grumbling under his breath and pulling her tighter against him for a long moment.

"I know." He said finally, releasing her. "Duty calls." She glanced back over her shoulder to look at him.

"I'll see you later?" He nodded, before capturing her lips with his – she felt mild embarrassment because she needed to brush her teeth.

"Count on it." They both rolled out of bed, and she collected her clothes and headed towards the door, glancing back only once at the man before leaving the bedroom. She could give him his clothes back later. Now, if she could just make it to her room without anyone seeing her.

Angela opened the door to find Jack on the other side, one hand poised to knock. They just stared at each other, and the longer the silence grew the redder Angela's cheeks grew. She wanted to stammer that it _wasn't_ what it looked like, they were just _sleeping_ , but the words wouldn't pass her lips.

"Uh, is Gabriel in?" Jack asked awkwardly. Mutely, she nodded before clearing her throat – twice.

"I'll, uhm, I'll get him." She offered. Angela would have called out from the door, but she didn't think she could raise her voice loud enough to alert the man. Angela left him standing in the doorway and poked her head into the bedroom. He was just about to close the bathroom door, but paused when he saw her.

"What's wrong?" He asked, taking in her flushed cheeks and the near-death grip she had on her clothes.

"Jack's here." He stared at her for a moment before barking a laugh.

"Of course he is." Gabriel aborted his trip to the bathroom and followed her out of the room. Jack was exactly where she'd left him.

"I'll, uh, I'll see you both – later." The words were rushed as she brushed past Jack and fled to her own room.


	14. Taking a Break

Hey guys, it's me, possibly your not-so-favorite fan fiction author Brighteye. I know I've been MIA for awhile, and I am so sorry about that. I came home from vacation and work was just _murder_ so that was difficult. I made a friend who wants to collaborate, so that was a bit distracting and completely my fault because I left you all in the cold.

But I am still going to be leaving you guys hanging for a bit, because I just broke up with my long-term [read: five-year long] boyfriend. It's not messy or anything, but it's still awful and has made it to where I'm really not feeling up to writing.

I hope, when I am able to return and get things rolling again, you will still be willing to read my works - because I do it for you guys.

Much love, and all the best until next time,

Brighteye


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